The Keeper of the Stars
by Brown-Eyed Girl 75
Summary: He used to pull my pigtails on the school bus and steal the cookies out of my lunchbox. But the only thing he's guilty of stealing now is my heart. LUCY AND COLLIN CENTRIC! ALSO MISSING ICFY SCENES. DL, FLACK/OC 'FREEZY'.
1. Somewhere Out There

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I ALSO DON'T OWN THE STORY TITLE, WHICH IS A WONDERFUL SONG BY TRACY BYRD**

**THIS STORY IS DEDICATED TO ALL OF THE COLLIN/BABY LUCY FANS THAT READ MY OTHER STORY. ESPECIALLY AFROZENHEART412 AND BRINCHEN 86. INSTEAD OF DOING FUTURE CHAPTERS IN **_**I'D COME FOR YOU**_**, I'D THOUGHT I'D DO A FEW THIS WAY INSTEAD. JUST SOME FUN LITTLE ONE SHOTS! **

**ALL READERS ARE WELCOME! **

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**Somewhere Out There**

"Somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight  
Someone's thinking of me and loving me tonight

Somewhere out there someone's saying a prayer  
That we'll find one another in that big somewhere out there

And even though I know how very far apart we are  
It helps to think we might be wishing on the same bright star

And when the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby  
It helps to think we're sleeping underneath the same big sky

Somewhere out there if love can see us through  
Then we'll be together somewhere out there  
Out where dreams come true."  
-Somewhere Out There, Linda Ronstadt and James Ingram

* * *

_**Lucy's POV: April 15th, 2032**_

I'm immersed in a pink and white paradise.

Eyes closed as I rest my head back against the cushion behind me, I rock in time to the soft ticking of the clock mounted on the dresser on the far left side of the room. The wood of the chair is cold against the rear of my thighs, and the braided carpet below tickles the bottoms of my bare feet as I propel myself back and forth, back and forth. Keeping time with the not only the clock, but the steady, rhythmic beat of my heart and soft breath emanating from the tiny body clasped tightly and protectively in my arms.

This nursery is my sanctuary. The only place I feel calm and relaxed while my world feels as if it's crumbling down around me. With it's ballerina pink walls accented by white crown moulding - and both the star mobile and matching light fixture mounted on the wall; items my mom had used to decorate my own bedroom twenty-two years ago- I always feel as if I'm basking in the presence of a princess. One who's stunningly beautiful -inside and out- and who effortlessly commands my heart and makes me stand at attention with even the slightest of movements. Who sleeps within a golden cradle a top the finest lace and most luxurious of satin, and who captures the souls of all whom lay their eyes upon her. That room, with its cherry wood sleigh crib covered in white bedding adorned with hand-sewn pink rosebuds, is her palace. And I am her loyal servant.

A soft sigh captures my attention and opening my eyes, I cast an adoring gaze downwards. Three week old Tatum Colleen Flack -her middle name a play on her daddy's first- is everything I'd ever dreamed of and more. When I'd found out that I was pregnant, only three short days after moving into our cozy two bedroom home located on the grounds of Marine Corps base Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, I'd immediately began to wonder what my unborn baby would be like. Boy or girl? Would they have their daddy's silky black locks? Or my thick honey blond curls? Collin's brilliant blue eyes? Or my soulful brown? Would they have his tall, strong, solid build, or would they be petite and dainty like me?

Truth be told, Tatum is everything that is wonderful and beautiful about both of us. She has the loose curls, but they're coal black. She has my dainty, pixie like nose, but her daddy's baby blues. She was gifted with my delicate chin, but Collin's beautiful lips. She possesses his long fingers and toes, but my feisty temperament. But one thing that she does have that is all daddy? His ferocious appetite.

I smile tenderly at my daughter, then cast my glance towards the pewter framed photograph that is mounted above the crib. Her daddy, my Prince Charming, the love of my life. Regal in his dress uniform. The navy blue of his tunic, with its gleaming buttons, showcase his sparkling eyes, and the snow white of his hat compliments his perfect, gleaming teeth. He's tall, dark and extremely handsome. And he's all mine.

We'd married straight out of high school; our parents, aunts and uncles -who are really colleagues of my folks and uncle Donnie's but who we love like family- and grandparents attending the small ceremony at a tiny church in Flushing, Queens. My daddy had cried when he gave me away, and I can still feel the tender kiss he'd placed upon my cheeks after raising my veil. Afterwards, we'd had a dinner in Papa and Nanna Flack's backyard, where Collin and I had our first dance to an old Keith Urban song. If I close my eyes, I can hear the strains of Only You Can Love Me This Way -which had also been Uncle Donnie and Auntie Breezy's first song at their wedding years ago- and feel the weight of Collin's hand on the small of my back as we twirled underneath the white lights his grandfather had strung in the surrounding trees.

Two months later, we'd both started our courses at George Brown. Collin had deferred his acceptance for a year so we could go together, and while I'd studied English Literature -I am proud to say that I've made quite the name for myself and have published several children's books- my new husband had worked towards his masters in chemical engineering. He was smart like Auntie Breezy, but streetwise like Uncle Donnie. Not once had he ever been pressured by his parents to become a cop. Even though, with a name as famous as Kennedy as far as the NYPD went, there had been unspoken desire by many that he continue in the family business. After all, Papa Flack was a legend, and Uncle Donnie was now the NYPD Commissioner. Silent hope had been that if Collin hadn't wanted to follow directly in his dad's footsteps, that he would at least become a forensics ace like my parents.

Collin had joined the Marines instead. To be just like our beloved Papa Mac. My husband is big and strong and brave just like his daddy. He's loyal and tenacious, and he serves his country, and his family, with pride. I'd banded together with Auntie Breezy -I still call them Auntie and Uncle, even if they are my in-laws- and my own mom however, when he'd expressed interest in being an infantryman. We'd begged and pleaded with him to try something safer, but Collin had steadfastly refused. Being stubborn is apparently an infamous Flack trait.

Then he was deployed to Kuwait only three months into my pregnany, and I'd been devastated. Letters and the occasional email just don't cut it; I still sleep in his clothes and clutch his pillow to my chest. Both my mom and Auntie Breezy had taken turns coming to visit during the remainder of my pregnant. A difficult feat, considering I have three younger brothers at home and Collin has two siblings of his own. My dad had been the one staying with me when I'd gone into labour. Who'd held my hand and couched me through every gruelling step. Who'd cried when he'd cut the cord and then had been presented with his tiny granddaughter. During the months when I'd still been carrying her, I'd sent Collin many an ultrasound picture along with detailed letters documenting how I was feeling, how the baby was doing, and where she was developmentally in-utero. And two days after her birth, Collin had been allowed to contact me via the internet, complete with real time kisses and hugs over the web cams on our respective computers. We'd named our daughter together, and he'd gushed about all of her hair and her impossibly small feet and hands before having to get back to duty.

"I love you Lucy-Loo," he'd said, fighting tears.

"I love you too, Collin-poo," I'd returned, giggling through my own tears at the use of our long standing, if not completely silly, nicknames.

I miss him. So much I can barely breathe sometimes. And my heart aches when I look at that picture and I worry about what dangers he's facing. About how he's being shot at and putting his life on the line to help make the world a better place. It helps to know, when I look out the window and gaze upon the stars, that we're sleeping underneath the same big, black sky. That we're breathing the same air and we're functioning on the same earth. That maybe, just maybe, he's looking up at those stars and that moon at the same time and thinking about me in return. I pray to God that he's not scared. And that he knows that Tatum and I are here waiting for him. Albeit impatiently. I wonder, as I look down at the precious life we'd created together, our miracle, when I'll feel my husband's kiss again and when the next time will be where I get to lose myself in his strong, protective embrace.

"You can't hold her forever, Luce," Auntie Breezy's voice pipes up from the doorway. She and my mom, best friends for nearly twenty-three years now, are here on a joint visit, and I am loving every minute with them both. I know Collin's mom misses him just as much as I do. And that she worries about him incessantly. Just as he does with her. Her health is always first and foremost on his mind. While the cancer is in remission -for the second time in four years- there's always that fear that it will come back. And that this time no amount of chemo and radiation will work and that she'll slip away from her first-born son. That something will happen to her while he's too far away to return in time to say goodbye.

I give her a smile. Her long red hair is long gone; she constantly sports vibrant and cheerful patterned scarves on her head.

"I was thinking about her daddy," I say. "And telling her how much he loves his little princess."

Auntie Breezy gives a brilliant smile of her own, although her sadness does manage to poke through just a little. And she crosses the room and standing before me, holds out her arms.

"That he does," she sighs. "But you know what? Even princesses need their sleep."

I nod in agreement, then hand my baby to her adoring grandmother. With tears blurring my vision, I watch as Auntie Breezy carries Tatum to her crib, cooing and smiling at her the entire time as she strokes those black curls softly, and delicately places my daughter in her bed.

My eyes fall on Collin's picture once again, and my heart nearly shatters.

_I miss you, _I think, and placing two fingertips over my lips, hold them out towards his image.

_I miss you like crazy._

* * *

_I know it wasn't long, but I just wanted to do a little something for all of you who'd been asking if Collin and Lucy ever get together! If you'd like to read more about them, just let me know! And shoot me some ideas of moments between them, past, present or future, that you'd like to see!_

_Much love, BEG 75_


	2. She's In Love With the Boy

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. AND WHILE I DON'T OWN LUCY MESSER, I'VE TAKEN THE LIBERTY OF MAKING UP HER BIRTH DATE SEEING AS TPTB NEVER SEEM TO FOLLOW A SET TIME FRAME.**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT ADDED THIS STORY TO ALERTS AND FAVES!**

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**She's In Love With The Boy**

"Katie and Tommy at the drive-in movie  
Parked in the very last row  
They're too busy holding on to one another  
To even care about the show  
But later on outside the Tastee Freeze,  
Tommy slips something on her hand  
He says, "my high school ring will have to do  
Till I can buy a wedding band"

Her daddy says, "He ain't worth a lick  
When it came to brains, he got the short end of the stick."  
But Katie's young and man she just don't care  
She'd follow Tommy anywhere  
She's in love with the boy  
She's in love with the boy  
She's in love with the boy  
And even if they have to run away  
She's gonna marry that boy someday."  
-She's In Love With the Boy, Trisha Yearwood

* * *

_**Lucy's POV**_

**April 24th****, 2025**

All of our lives, Collin and I have been best friends. Our moms even managed to capture a picture of us in the tub together when he was pushing four and I was a just few months out of my second birthday. Both mom and Auntie Breezy have copies of that photo; piles of shampoo suds piled on the tops of our heads forming seventies style beehives, toys taking up nearly every available inch in the soapy water, and vibrant coloured scribbles on the shower wall courtesy of our bath crayons. Each version of the picture is securely and loving tucked into our respective matching memory books entitled MY FIRST FIVE YEARS, and when Auntie Breezy's been into the wine a little too much, she wastes no time busting out the kiddie pictures. Especially the naked ones. And she always loved to torment my dad by reminding him of the first time that Collin and I had ever met outside of Uncle Donnie's work. I had still been a baby in a stroller and Collin just recently out of diapers, and apparently he had announced to his mommy after my mom and I had left that "Baby Lucy is going to be my girlfriend when we grow up."

It has always been Lucy and Collin. We've been practically joined at the hip since I was two, when my parents bought our house diagonally across the street from Uncle Donnie and Auntie B in Flushing, Queens. My mom had been six months pregnant at the time with my brother Dominic at the time, and had realized the second that that home test had come back positive that their little two-bedroom apartment in lower Manhattan just wasn't going to hold our growing family. The place had already been nearly bursting at the seams, and it had been my mom's idea to move to Flushing, where my aunt and uncle -my parents' respective best friends- had just moved into their own home with their own family. Collin had become a big brother just six months before; Auntie Breezy had gotten pregnant quick into her reconciliation with Uncle Donnie, and had given birth to a beautiful baby girl that they'd named Shae-Lynne Jessica. Not only would we be closer to the people we considered our second family, but living would be much cheaper than if we stayed in the city, my mom's argument had been. And while I don't remember it, there are pictures to show that there were mountains of cardboard boxes and large plastic Tupperware containers taking up every inch of our living room in our new house while I was celebrating my second birthday.

Our moms loved living so close to each other; they didn't have to call each other on the phone anymore and clear time out of their schedules to see each other. All they had to do was cross the street with the kids in tow and spend the afternoons with one another. And while our dads wouldn't admit it, we'd always suspected that they enjoyed it too. It definitely made it easier for them to hang out after work and have a few beers together or watch the Mets or the Rangers games on the weekends. Our blended families went on vacations and road trips together, and spent nearly every holiday in each other's company. Collin and I always sat beside each other at the kiddie table during Christmas or Thanksgiving dinner, or when we opened our gifts. We wore co-ordinating Halloween costumes -one year we were Robin Hood and Maid Marion, another we were Han Solo and Princess Leia- when we went trick treating and we always served in the holiday themed pageants together at church.

The first time I'd ever seen Collin in a different light -where I'd actually noticed how cute and charming he was- was the day of my first communion. I'd been sitting alongside of my dad waiting for all of the other kids in my class to show up for the ceremony, while my mom and Auntie Breezy chatted across the aisle and teased Uncle Donnie about all of his grey hair. All dolled up in my white lace and satin gown with baby's breath tucked into my French braid, pristine white elbow length gloves and my prized pair of pink and white kitten heels -it was a big deal for an eight year old- I'd been giggling as my dad read comics to me off of his BlackBerry that he snuck into the church in his suit jacket pocket, when someone had cleared their throat noisily alongside of me. When I'd looked up, I can vividly recall how my little eight year old heart nearly exploded right there and then at the sight of Collin in the aisle, clad in a suit and tie and polished black dress shoes and his hair freshly cut, a bouquet of white, yellow and pink champagne roses cradle tenderly in his arms.

"These are for you, Lucy," his voice had been a mere whisper, and he'd laid the flowers in my lap and then had pecked my cheek quickly before turning on his heel and hurrying to where his parents were sitting. Uncle Donnie had been trying so hard not to laugh; the tips of his ears had even been turning bright red. Auntie B had scowled at him, elbowed him in the side and then had ran her hand over Collin's hair and smiled adoringly at him when he'd slipped into the pew beside her.

I'd known right there and then I'd had a huge crush on him.

A crush that I have been carrying for the past seven years and has remained unrequited. I've always gotten the feeling that Collin likes me as more than a friend. Or even more than a little sister of sorts. Collin has a lot of friends -both male and female- and he treats those girls differently then he did me. While he was constantly joking around with them and sheepishly smiling at their flirting and barely managing to escape out of kisses and hugs each time they tried to capture him, he was always finding some way to touch me. Whether it be our hands brushing against each other while we walked home from school or our shoulders or knees touching when we sat beside each other while watching movies, or his fingers brushing along my arms as he helped me into my coat. He always offered to carry my backpack home and never forget to pull out my chair in the cafeteria or open doors for me. If I was cold, he offered me his hockey jacket or whatever sweater he happened to be wearing.

We've come close to kissing a few times, too. At school dances when we'd been dancing _real _slow and _real _close to the last song of the night and our lips had been mere centimetres apart only to have the gym lights turn on and bring an abrupt and disappointing end to our moment. Or the times I'd meet him after hockey practices and he'd greet me with a peck on the cheek and a warm hug, and he'd push my hair off my shoulders and gently clear snowflakes from my face and we'd come within a breath of our lips meeting. And the most memorable time: when we'd been put in charge of watching our siblings while our parents had a double date night and Collin had wrapped his arm around my shoulders while we'd been watching American Idol. I'd rested my head on his shoulder and peered up at him, and he'd looked down at me with a soft smile and had lowered his face to mine. And just as I'd felt his warm breath on my face, we'd been rudely interrupted by his younger brother Gage demanding possession of the remote control.

All of this and Collin has never asked me out. I'm fifteen now and not once has Collin ever held my hand in public or kissed me. Properly kissed me. Nor has he ever had a girlfriend even though he's been allowed to date since he was fourteen. I honestly don't understand what his problem is. Or what _my_ problem is. I may not be the most popular girl at school; I tend to concentrate more on my grades than having a social life and I to spend a little too much time with my nose in books, but I'm caring, intelligent and funny. Collin always tells me how much he loves my sense of humour and how I can always cheer him up when he's having a crappy day. And I may not be the prettiest either. so what if I'm a little on the chunky side and I have braces on my top and bottom teeth and I wear glasses like my daddy used to; Collin always compliments me on how pretty my hair is and how much he likes the smell of shampoo or how whatever I'm wearing makes my eyes sparkle. He makes me feel as if I'm the most beautiful girl in the entire world. As if I'm worthy to have someone like him. Who's popular athletic and crazy smart.

And who, with his coal black hair, brilliant blue eyes and his strong, muscular body, is so damn hot it should be illegal.

So then what the hell is the problem? Collin isn't dating anyone and he constantly turns down invitations to the movies and parties from all kinds of girls at school. My brother Dominic constantly jokes that Collin is gay. And it wouldn't bother me if he was. I'd love him and he'd still be my best friend if he was. But I…

God I hope he's not. Because if he is that means there's no hope of ever having him for myself and it's killing me now being around him and feeling the something that exists between us. Every time we're together, I'm screaming at him inside of my head to ask me out. To just throw caution to the wind and ask me if I want to go out to eat or to a movie. Or even both. Or even just a drive down to Coney Island in the beat up Chevy Malibu his parents had bought him for his sixteen birthday.

And above all, if he would just kiss me…I would die a happy girl.

Sighing heavily, I force myself to rid my brain of all thought of Collin and turn my attention to the textbooks and binders that are strew across my bed. Lying on my stomach with the buds to my Ipod tucked firmly in my ears, I'm supposed to be studying for my mid-terms that are coming up the following week. Instead, I'm torturing myself by listening to love songs -country ones at that, about unrequited love and heart break- and spending more time doodling in my chemistry binder than actually retaining any information.

_LUCY MESSER LOVES COLLIN FLACK 4-EVER _is written in massive pink letters on the paper in front of me, and is accompanied by hearts and hastily drawn flowers. Tears fill my eyes as I trail a fingertip over each of the letters, and I silently pray that one day he'll feel the same way about me. That I'll stop being a little sister to him and he'll see me as something so much more. That maybe this time when he takes me to the summer formal, I'll be his girlfriend and not just a 'date'.

A knock comes to my bedroom door and I quickly wipe my tears away, cover my proclamation of undying love with one of my textbooks and issues a terse "Who is it?"

I've been locked away in my sanctuary -my palace with it lavender walls, frilly white curtains with purple sashes, my mass collection of Bratz dolls on display on a bookshelf next to the window, and my white wrought iron canopy bed complete with pink, silver and purple stripped fabric- for a little over two hours now. Leaving my dad to entertain Dominic and our nine-year-old sister Neveah -Heaven spelt backwards, it makes me roll my eyes even now- as my mom finished the cake she was making for my sixteenth birthday tomorrow. I'd locked myself in my room under the guise of studying, when in fact I've been wallowing in self-pity because it's the first birthday of mine that Collin will miss. He's in Boston attending a five day hockey camp being run by NHL players, and no one is available to pick him up until Tuesday.

The day _after_ my birthday.

"Luce!" my dad's voice pipes up from the other side of my bedroom door. "I've got a special delivery!"

"I'm busy!" I call out. "I've got a lot of studying to do and I don't have any time for Neveah's famous oatmeal raisin cookies or even one of mom's cupcakes." _I just want to be miserable,_ I think. _I just want to feel sorry for myself and cry my eyes out._

I just want to be left alone in my misery to miss Collin.

"I think you're going to like this delivery!" my dad exclaims. "This kind of thing only comes around once in a lifetime!"

"I said I was busy!" I snap. "Please just…"

"Lucy?" Collin's voice, accompanied by the rattling of the handle snapped my attention in the direction of the door. "Can I come in?"

Every book and binder tumbles off of my bed as I bolt off of it and hurry for the door. Smoothing down my clothes and my hair and casting a glance at myself in my heart shaped mirror mounted on the wall to make sure there's nothing in my teeth and that my makeup I'd worn to work isn't smeared down my face from my tears.

_I can't let him know I'm that excited, _I tell myself sternly, as I stand with my hand wrapped around the doorknob and force myself to calm down. _I don't want to look pathetic or anything._

Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly and then finally open the door. My heart nearly melts at the sight of Collin in a pair of worn and faded jeans, a navy blue Henley that makes his eyes stand out and an unzipped black puffy vest. And then my eyes are drawn away from his beautiful face and his remarkable eyes and they rest on the object that he's carrying along one arm.

A bouquet of pink, yellow and white champagne roses.

The tears are threatening again.

"These are for you Lucy," he says, and offers them to me. "You really didn't think I'd miss your birthday, did you?"

"But how…" I stammer, as I clasp the flowers tightly to my chest and inhale their captivating scent. "How'd you…"

"My dad drove down after his shift to pick me up," Collin explains. "I was never going to _really_ miss your big day. It's your sweet sixteen. There was no way I was going to miss it. We just all…well…we…"

"We wanted it to be a surprise," my dad says, as he lingers in the hall. "Happy birthday, bubble gum," he uses the nickname he graced me with when I was just five years old, tears in his own eyes as he steps up to the door and kisses my cheek. "You two be good!" he orders, then pats my cheek before turning to for the stairs. "And remember! That door stays open all the time!"

"Aye-aye Captain!" I snap off a sarcastic salute, while Collin offers up a polite, "Yes, Uncle Danny."

"Thank God you take after your mother kid," my dad mumbles as he journeys down the stairs.

I sniff the flowers once again and smile up at Collin. "You really came all the way back for me?" I ask.

"You really thought I wouldn't?" he counters, then leans in to kiss my cheek. Only this time, something different happens. His lips graze against my skin and then his hand comes up and he takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and turns my face into his.

His lips are warm and soft. And while the kiss is all too brief, it renders me speechless and weak in the knees. I can barely breathe as I stand there, my eyes closed and the tips of our noses touching.

"Your almost sixteen," Collin says, his breath warm on my face.

I nod dreamily.

"Few more hours," he observes. "That means I can finally ask you to be my girlfriend."

My eyes snap open and I stare up at him.

"That's your dad's rule," Collin reminds me. "No boyfriends until you're sixteen. Why do you think I've put it off for so long? It's been killing me, Lucy Loo. It's been damn painful not being able to ask you out."

"You've waited for me?" I inquire in disbelief. "That's why you've never had a girlfriend? Why you've never said yes to all those other girls?"

He nods. "I knew I wanted to be with you," he says. "Only you. None of them girls can even start to match up. So I figured, something as amazing as you is worth waiting for."

I feel a massive smile spread across my face, and cradling my flowers in one arm, I grab a hold of the front of his shirt with my free hand and yank him down.

"Does that mean I have to wait until I'm sixteen to get another kiss?" I ask.

"Naw…" he grins. "I think we can sneak another one in. A really good one this time."

As Collin tangles one hand in my hair as the other rests on the small of my back, his lips move sinuously against mine, and I know in my heart that he belongs to me.

And that this is what love is supposed to feel like.

* * *

**Massive thanks to everyone that reviewed the first chapter!**

**Also, in a little while, I am going to put up a visual of sixteen year old Lucy on my profile for a couple of days!!! Just what I thought she might look like...minus the glasses in the story of course...**

**Special thanks to:**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Brinchen86**

**CSINYMinute**

**Hope4sall**

**ParaCaerOuVoar**

**Soccer-bitch**

**Dreamer Child 88**

**wolfeylady**

**xSamilciousx**

**collegegirl52**

**Forest Angel**


	3. I Loved Her First

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

**HUGE THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT IS ADDING ME AND THIS STORY TO THEIR ALERTS AND FAVES!**

**AND A MASSIVE SHOUT OUT TO BOTH DREAMER CHILD 88 AND HEART2HANDGUN WHO SUGGESTED A WONDERFUL SONG FOR ME TO USE IN AN UPCOMING CHAPTER!! THANKS GALS! I HOPE WHEN THAT CHAPPIE GETS HERE, YOU'LL BOTH LOVE IT!**

* * *

**I Loved Her First**

"But I loved her first and I held her first  
And a place in my heart will always be hers  
From the first breath she breathed  
When she first smiled at me  
I knew the love of a father runs deep  
And I prayed that she'd find you someday  
But it still hard to give her away  
I loved her first."  
I Loved Her First, Heartland

* * *

_**Danny's POV, October 30th, 2011**_

The day the news got out that Flack had himself a baby boy that no one had known about -including him- I'd known that I was in serious trouble. It was Lucy's heart and her best interests that I was worried about first and foremost. She may have been only fifteen months at the time, but she'd been a beautiful baby from the second she'd come into the world kicking and screaming. Who could resist a gorgeous girl with big blue eyes, chubby, rosy cheeks and a head full of honey blond curls? In the delivery room, when I'd stroked the top of her wrinkly hand with my index finger and her fist had opened and then curled tightly around it, she'd in turn successfully captured her my heart. At that moment, I'd vowed to not only love and adore her forever, but to protect her at all costs. To try my hardest to chase away all the monsters that haunted her dreams and lurked beneath her bed and inside of her closet. To take on the bullies -even if it was just in my head- that picked on her on her playground and made my baby girl cry. And to prevent her precious and pure heart from ever being broken by a boy who'd promise her forever and never follow through.

From the time he was two and a half, Collin Flack had been my worst nightmare. Sure, Bree-Anne had done a hell of a job raising him; she'd gone through her entire pregnancy, the subsequent delivery and nearly the first three years of her life being both mommy and daddy. He was exceptionally smart, ridiculously polite and a hell of a looker, and judging by how fast he'd reeled in his Auntie Montana with his huge blue eyes, that dimply little smile and that giggle that could melt even the most frozen of hearts, it was quite apparent that no woman was safe with a spawn of Donald Flack Junior roaming the earth. I knew he was trouble that evening I'd knelt down at the side of his high chair and after finding out that Lucy was my daughter, proceeded to inform me that he and my baby girl were going to be kicking it when they were older.

Those weren't his exact words of course; I would have been horrified if he'd used terminology like that. And I would have immediately gone home and welded a chastity belt around my daughter's body. What most people would have assumed was innocent toddler talk; I knew was the kid talking with the utmost sincerity. I'd seen the seriousness in his eyes. He may have looked sweet and innocent and cherubic to everyone else around him, but I'd known from the get go that he was going to give me a run for my money when he was a teenager. That he'd be the kind of kid that wouldn't take no for answer and who'd be pelting pebbles at Lucy's window and scaling the eaves trough to get up to her bedroom. Hell, he'd be the type to stand outside of the house playing the guitar and serenading her with some sappy love song that would have her swooning with stars in her eyes while I paced the living room floor with a shotgun and Lindsay ordered me to both "chill out" and "stand down".

Most guys would have been somewhat relaxed at the thought of their baby girl hooking up with the son of their best friend. Especially when said best friend was someone like Flack, who I trusted with not only my life, but with those of my entire family. Someone who was loyal and dependable and who had, from the nearly the second he'd met his son, become the type of dad that we all strived to be. He'd jumped head first into his role as daddy, stunning everyone who knew him with how patient, compassionate and attentive he could be. It was quite clear how much he adored his boy. Despite the fact he'd missed almost three years of Collin's life, Flack had put the hurt and anger behind him and had shone as a father.

He'd stepped up to the plate and had finally made good on all of those promises he'd made Bree-Anne and had failed miserably at keeping. Things had moved fast for them. Within a month of him showing up at her place, they were living together at his apartment while looking for something more permanent for their little family. By the middle of September, they'd been expecting their second child together and they'd cemented things by becoming husband and wife in mid-October. While we were all happy for Flack, truth be told the majority of us had thought he was crazy. Tossing himself into 'til death to us part and for richer or for poorer so early on in the relationship. But I supposed that he and Bree-Anne had spent so much time apart that they hadn't wanted to waste anymore time. That they decided to just say to hell with it and take the plunge before something shitty could happen to them again.

It's Flack's man whore days following Angell's death that are preventing me from accepting the idea of my best friend's boy hooking up with my baby girl. I'm convinced that not only does Collin look just like Flack, but he's most likely inherited all of his daddy's faults as well. The kid is just way too cute for his own good, and even at his tender age is fully aware of how much the ladies like him and how quickly batting those long eyelashes and flashing that grin can wrap the girls around his baby finger. And as much as I love the kid as a both my nephew and my godson and I'd kill any bastard that ruffled a hair on his head, I'm pretty sure that he's plotting against me on how to steal Lucy's heart. I see the way he puts his arm around her or presses a kiss to her cheek and then looks at me to make sure that I'm watching. Lindsay says it's all in my head, but I'm pretty sure his eyes are twinkling devilishly and that he's giving me a cocky smirk. As if he's saying, 'watch and weep, old man. Watch and weep'.

Of course, everyone but me finds it both adorable and amusing that my Lucy is falling victim to Collin and his evil regime. Sure, the kid nearly melted me the second he'd started calling me Lucy's daddy, but that doesn't mean that I find it either cute or funny that he's determined to corrupt my child. I don't find the way the two kids chase each other around the back yard and sneak tiny little kisses under the slide adorable in any way, shape or form. I don't think it's sweet when they sit together with their sippy cups of apple juice, sharing their snacks in the middle of a beach towel. And I damn sure don't like it when B and Montana insist on bathing our children together. What the hell is so precious about taking pictures of our kids naked together? With beehives made from shampoo on the tops of their heads? They're naked for god sakes and I don't want a naked Collin Flack anywhere near a naked Lucy Messer. Simple as.

I don't care if he's four or not.

"Are you hoping if you stare at them long enough they'll turn into stone?" Flack's voice suddenly pipes up from alongside of me, as I lean over the railing of my buddy's back deck, sipping a beer and shooting daggers at Collin as he pushes Lucy in the Little Tikes baby swing that is wrapped around a branch of the towering oak tree in the far left corner of Flack's backyard.

"I'm hoping if I stare at your boy long enough he'll get the picture," I retort, and take a swig from my bottle of Bud. I can hear Lindsay and B inside the house, laughing and chatting incessantly as they prepare the assortment of cold salads and 'adult' food that is going to be prepared at Collin's birthday party. My wife and I have brought our little family over a couple of hours early, to help out with the remaining duties, and to just kick back before the craziness ensues.

"He's four years old, Mess" Flack says with a roll of his eyes, and shifts his six-month-old daughter onto his left hip.

Talk about your extreme in kids. If Collin is all Flack with all of that black hair and those brilliant blue eyes, that baby girl is all her mommy. With her bouncy bright red curls, heart shaped lips, soulful brown eyes and freckles that cover a good three quarter of her pale skin, that little angel is a mini version of B. When she'd been born, we'd all been surprised that her full given name was Shae-Lynne Jessica. No one had ever expected Bree-Anne to be cool with naming their daughter after Flack's deceased girlfriend, or asking Jess' dad and her brothers to come to the christening. They'd been extremely touched by both sentiments, and had given the baby a small, white leather bible that Angell's great-grandmother had given her on her baptism day.

"Just 'cause he's four doesn't mean he's any less dangerous," I give a derisive snort. "That's my baby girl, Flack. And as much as I love your boy like he's my own…Collin and Lucy? No way in hell. Over my dead body."

"I think you're taking some sloppy toddler kisses way too seriously," Flack declares, and twists and turns his head at awkward angles to prevent his daughter from either sticking her fingers up his nose or shoving them into his mouth. She's adorable -especially in that little blue and white gingham sundress, white ankle socks with the frills on the tops, baby blue cardigan sweater and tiny diamond studs sparkling on her ear lobes- but she's a damn handful.

Maybe she's more like Flack than any of us realize.

"Would you want my boy hooking up with your daughter?" I ask, staring at him pointedly.

"First off, your boy is only four weeks and my daughter is only six months. I doubt they'll be running off to Vegas to get married anytime soon."

"So nineteen, twenty years from now…" I try another approach. "When they're all grown up and ready to make decisions of their own. Would you want Shae-Lynne and Dominic eloping? Having babies together?"

"Honestly?" Flack asks. "I would."

"Come on…" I give a dry laugh and wave his answer off. "No way in hell would you be okay with your baby girl and my boy kicking it together."

"Unlike you, Messer, I don't hold your past mistakes against Dominic," Flack tells me, a wince appearing on his face as Shae-Lynne grabs a handful of the chest hair that's poking out of the top of his black Henley shirt. "You judging Collin for the shitty things that I did? Not cool. At all."

"I ain't doing that," I grumble, knowing my best friend has me dead to rights.

"Not that you should be judging a four year old _anyway," _Flack continues. "But if you're going to do it, can't you forget about his daddy's sins and base what he's going to be like when he's older off of what I've done with my life since last July? 'Cause I've done good by him and his mommy. I stepped up to the plate and did everything right. And then some. My wife and my kids have made me want to be a better person and maybe…well maybe that's what he's going to model when he's a teenager."

I stare at my best friend, speechless. For once.

"Collin doesn't know what I was like before. And when he came into my life and Breezy and I got back together…well that part of me died, Danny. Everything that was bad and seriously flawed ceased to exist. My wife and my kids are my everything. They're my entire world. I changed for them. And that's all that Collin knows. All he knows is the daddy that loves him, takes care of him, and makes sure that he, his mommy, and his sister are happy. He doesn't know the other me. And I'd like to keep it that way. I trust you and Lindsay with everything that is the most precious and important to me. You're good people."

My best friend falls silent. I'm completely shocked by the depth of both the wisdom and the emotion that exist in his words. This guy that handled both the death of someone he loved, and my temporary paralysis by drinking himself into a stupor nearly every night and sleeping with anything walked with a wiggle. I watch him as he stands there, effortlessly placing both of his large, strong hands at the back of his daughter's head and laying her along his forearms. And I can't help but grin when he tickles her stomach with the top of his head and succeeds in bringing a genuine smile to her face and causes a gurgle to erupt from her mouth. I'm in awe of him, of this side of Flack that exists outside of work. The proud, loving daddy that thinks the sun rises and sets on his kid, the husband who adores his wife beyond all comprehension. When B came back into his life, the darkness had lifted from Flack's eyes. He'd quickly gone back to smiling and laughing easily again, to cracking his patented smart-ass comments at the perfect times and to being the type of friend anyone would be proud and honoured to have.

"What the hell has happened to you?" I ask my best friend, as he holds his daughter high above his head, almost eliciting her first real giggle. "When did you become like this?"

"Like what?" he asks, and rubs Shae-Lynne's stomach with his forehead. She gives another loud gurgle, and then fists her dad's hair in between her tiny fingers.

"Like this…" I gesture to the baby girl as Flack fights to regain possession of his hair. "I mean, you're a dad for Christsakes."

"I've been a dad for four years now," he reminds me. "And if I need to go into detail about how that exactly happened, well you never paid attention in sex ed class in high school."

"I don't mean that," I retort. "I mean a dad as in doing dad things. The way you are with them. The way you drop everything to be with your family. The way you get down on the floor to rough house or read bedtime stories or handle night time feedings and shitty diapers."

"You do all of that too," Flack says.

"I know. But that's me and this is…well this is you. Or isn't you to be more precise."

"You remember the old Donald Flack Junior?" my best friend asks. "The one that screwed things up massively that day at the courthouse nearly five years ago? The one that nearly drank himself into oblivion and could have easily had STDs and paternity lawsuits all over the place?"

I nod.

"Well guess what, Mess? That old Flack? I killed him."

I chuckle at that.

"Personally, I like the new Flack better," he says and returns his baby girl to his hip. "The husband Flack. The daddy Flack."

I can't argue with that. And as I sip the rest of my beer, a comfortable silence falls between us and I allow my eyes to stray to that back yard swing. Lucy's giggles float on the breeze as Collin pushes her with all the tenderness and care a four year old can possibly possess. He knows to handle her with kid gloves. To treat her like the precious, beautiful and fragile angel that she is. I'm confidant that he'll never let her fall. Not now. Not ever.

And I realize that if Collin turns out to be even half the man as the one that is standing next to me is, that my baby girl will be the most loved, idolized and worshipped woman on the face of the planet. That he'd do whatever he could to protect her, to keep her safe and sound. That if he even learns even the smallest amount of lessons in how to respect himself and Lucy from his father, than Flack will have succeeded in doing one hell of a job.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and just plain lurking! I appreciate all of the support!**

**Huge thanks to:**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Brinchen86**

**CSINYMinute**

**Heart2handgun**

**xSamiliciousx**

**ParaCaerOuVoar**

**Dreamer Child 88**

**Monoxide Lullaby**

**Forest Angel**

**Storywriter**

**Hope06**

**Collegegirl52**

**wolfeylady**

**Daisy Angel**

**messermonroeforever125**


	4. Little Guy

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

**THIS CHAPTER IS FOR ALL OF YOU WHO ASKED FOR MORE FLACK DADDY MOMENTS!!! AND IF YOU HAVEN'T HEARD THE SONG I USED, I RECOMMEND LISTENING TO IT! THE WORDS ARE SO PERFECT!**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVES!**

* * *

**Little Guy**

"'Cause I'm gonna be the best dad that I can,  
I'll take you by those little hands.  
And when you stumble, I'll pick you right up.  
I'll be your number one fan.  
And watch you grow into a man.  
Now I'm a laugh with you, cry with you, and let my love surround you.  
And I'm a dance with you pray for you and wrap my arms around you when you cry,  
Little guy  
Your gonna grow older and wiser.  
And your gonna chase your dreams.  
And one day raise a family.  
And you'll know just what I mean.  
Son you mean the world to me.  
Now I'm a laugh with you, cry with you, let my love surround you.  
And I'm a dance with you pray for you and wrap my arms around you when you cry,  
Little guy  
I'm so glad your mine,  
Little guy."  
-Little Guy, Gord Bamford

* * *

_**Flack's POV**_

The sights and sounds of Halloween assault my senses. Intricately carved pumpkins that are nothing short of works of art and line the front walks of intricately and phenomenally decorated homes. Single family dwellings that thanks to owners with way too much time on their hands, have transformed their front lawns into haunted mazes -with Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger chasing you- and graveyards complete with rolling fog, the sounds of coffins creaking open and howls of distress from the undead. We tend to stick to the places that are family friendly and less terrifying to vulnerable four year olds. During the daylight hours over the course of the last four days, Collin had all but begged and pleaded several times a day to take him across the street so he could watch the construction of the cemetery. However, in the dark when everything seemed much more scary and threatening, he'd had a complete meltdown the second we'd crossed the street and stepped onto the curb. I'd had to scoop him up and carry him back to the safety of our driveway, and then sit on the lawn and rock him for several minutes until he finally calmed down and we could commence trick or treating. Sticking to the safer places along the route, of course. Ones, like ours, with the simple jack o' lanterns that have little more than two eyes, a nose and a mouth. Or in our case: a trio of pumpkins on our front steps, each with not only relatively boring and amateur faces, but ears made out of play-doh and hair created out of red and black string liquorice that Breezy had shoved into their heads.

Our place is actually one of the bigger draws in the neighbourhood. Not because of the little plastic bag ghosts that dangle from the lower branches of the sole tree in our front yard, or the string of pumpkin shaped lights that are wrapped around the banister or even the fact that my wife answers the door dressed up better than most of the kids. Last year she'd been Strawberry Shortcake, this year she's Lucille Ball. It's because, thanks to her desire and need to be organized down to every last detail, she keeps five massive bowls of candy by the front door. One with suckers and Jolly Ranchers, another with those little snack bags of potato chips, and the remaining three filled to the brim with mini chocolate bars, rockets and candy necklaces. We spend a ridiculous amount of money on Halloween treats, and Breezy always makes sure that each kid that comes ringing the bell - some of whom she teaches at St. Joseph's, the same elementary school I want to and the owners of what we affectionately refer to as 'the kissing swing'- gets a generous handful from each different stash of goodies. Miss Bee, as she's called by her students, is definitely the most popular teacher in the school. If not the entire borough.

Standing under the streetlight in front of the final house on our route, I sneak a peek at my watch. It is quarter to nine and the festivities in our neighbourhood are still going strong. Parents sip travel mugs of coffee and tea as they chat on the sidewalk and wait for their little ghosts and goblins to do their thing, while giggles and cries of 'trick or treat!' fill the air. Luna and our other three dogs -a nearly year old black lab named, you guessed it, Sprinkles, and two eight week old beagle puppies named Copper and Todd (after Breezy's favourite Disney movie, The Fox and the Hound)- sit obediently at my feet, tails wagging excitedly as they watch the excitement in their matching black knit, skull and crossbones sweaters. This is what Collin and I call our 'home stretch'. After supper, we cross the street and start our night at Danny and Linds' house, then make our way all the way around the block until we end up right where we started. Then we return to the bottom of our driveway, hang a left and follow our side of the street all the way around until we get back to the house on the right side of ours.

In between, we always make a pit stop at my parents' house. So that grandma can take pictures of Collin in his costume, I can warm up with a coffee, and he has a hot chocolate and a couple of the ginger cookies that my mom always makes -every Halloween I bring two dozen home- just for him and Breezy. I'd honestly never thought that anything could replace the fond memories of the Halloweens of my childhood. Of going door to door with Sam, Chris and the old man. It was the only thing that he ever really did with us -mostly because he hated the hassle of getting up from the couch each time someone rang the doorbell-and we always prowled the streets in costumes that my mom made for us. I vividly remembering returning home at the end of the night and the three of us dumping our pillow cases of candy out into the middle of the kitchen table and being completely in awe of our major score.

But nothing from my childhood can ever come close to my two stints of trick or treating with my son. Holding his hand as he skips happily alongside of me, hearing his excited giggles and shrieks and seeing his face light up and awe fill his eyes at the sight of all the pumpkins, the other kids' costumes, and the generous amounts of candy he manages to bring in. Last year had been my first Halloween with Collin; he'd dressed up as a skunk, and out of my own exuberance and our first 'holiday' together, I'd kept him out far too late and he'd fallen asleep with his head on my shoulder as I carried him home. A month later, we celebrated our first Thanksgiving as a family. Followed by our first Christmas. And then came the miracle of witnessing the birth of my baby girl.

I honestly don't know if life can get any better. Or how my existence ever went from incredibly shitty to amazing in what seems like the blink of an eye.

"Daddy!" Collin calls to me, as he hops down the front steps of our next door neighbour's house - he'd informed me, when we'd gotten to the last house on our route, that he wanted to go to the door himself "'cause I'm not a baby anymore, you know. I'm four years old! But you'll come and beat the spookies up if they scare me, right daddy?" - and races across the grass, the tail of his Eeyore costume slapping against the ground and his plastic pail -in the shape of a pumpkin and clasped tightly in his hand- banging against his left thigh. Breezy had found the elaborate wool costume at Target, and if it's not warm enough on its own, Collin's damn toasty with his jeans and turtleneck on underneath and his winter boots on his feet.

"Isn't that a little…girly?" I'd asked my wife, when she'd brought the costume home and enthusiastically showed it to me, the only thing registering the pink bows on the tail.

"Eeyore is neither male nor female," she'd responded, rolling her eyes the whole time. "There's the bows and the long eyelashes, but then there's the deep voice. So if he _is_ a boy, then the only thing Eeyore is, is metrosexual."

That had been the last thing I'd needed to her. My son going all Pete Wentz a day after his fourth birthday. So I'd taken it upon myself to remove the pink bows, and then made my own from an old black t-shirt I'd ripped apart.

"Hey! Look!" Danny had cried, as he'd dropped candy into my son's pail. "It's an ass! And your costume is pretty cool, too, Collin."

"Looks what I got daddy!" Collin skids to a stop in front of me and holds aloft his container for me to peek in. It had been empty when he'd mounted the steps -we've spent all evening dumping the pail out into the nearly full pillowcase in my right had- and now it's full to the brim with mini chocolate bars (all Kit-Kat, I notice, Collin's self proclaimed favourite) and suckers. And not one, but two coupon books for McDonalds. This fantastic haul once again proving to me that Mrs. McPherson -her husband is a FDNY vet, they're both in their eighties, and never had a family of their own- has a major soft spot for my boy.

"Whoa…" I give an impressed nod, and then hold a hand up in greeting in the direction of the neighbour's house where Mrs. McPherson is watching us from her front porch. "What are you going to do with all of this candy?" I ask. "You've got enough here to last until _next_ Halloween. You aren't going to eat all of it, are you?"

"Yep!" Collin replies, nodding enthusiastically. "I am going to eat it all!"

"Something tells me that your mommy isn't going to let that happen," I say, and lay a hand on the top of Collin's head and give a slight yank on the dogs' leashes encouraging them to get up and follow as we slowly make our way towards our own dwelling. "You're not going to share? Not with me? Not with mum-mum?"

"Maybe just a little," my son tells me. "But not with Shae-Lynne 'cause she's just a baby and babies can't eat goodies. Babies just eat yucky cereal and mushed up peas and carrots!" he shudders and makes a loud gagging noise. "And poop a lot!" he adds as an after thought.

We'd been somewhat concerned, when Breezy had wound up pregnant quick into our relationship that she was pregnant, that Collin was going to take not being the only child in his mom's life very, very badly. For two and a half years it had been just the two of them, and while he'd easily and effortlessly accepted my entrance into his life and had dealt exceptionally well with the news that I was his 'forever daddy', we'd been afraid that having a sibling would cause him some serious issues. So far so good, save for the occasional jealousy issue when the baby seemed to get more attention than he did.

"You know who I'm going to share lots of my candy with?" Collin asks me.

"Who?" I inquire, although I'm pretty sure I already know the answer.

"Lucy," my son replies, and gives what can only be described as a dreamy sigh. And I'm glad that Danny decided not to tag along with us tonight after all. Because he'd hear that and immediately ban my kid from ever stepping within a hundred feet of his precious baby girl. For the rest of their natural born lives.

"You like Lucy, huh?" I ask with a grin.

"Lucy's cute," Collin replies. "She's my girlfriend, you know daddy."

"I know. You've been telling everyone that since you were two and a half."

"I was almost three," my son corrects. "How comes Lucy wouldn't come out trick or treating with us?"

"Because she's not feeling well and Uncle Danny and Aunt Linds don't want her getting any worse," I explain. "You wouldn't want Lucy getting any more sick, would you?"

"No…" Collin shakes his head. "I loves Lucy. I miss her."

"You just saw her a couple of hours ago," I remind her. "And if she's feeling well enough, you'll see her at day care tomorrow. And then maybe you can give her some of your candy."

"I'm going to give her all my orange suckers," Collin declares.

"I thought they were your favourite," I frown. "You never give mommy or daddy any of your orange suckers."

"That's 'cause you're mommy and daddy. Not Lucy," Collin reasons. "Uncle Danny says to always give the ladies what they want. Whether they ask for it or not."

"You need to stop listening to everything that comes out of his mouth," I say.

"He says that everything that comes out of his mouth is gospel," Collin informs me, as he happily skips up our driveway. The pumpkins have long been extinguished and the string of lights are turned out, clearly indicating that the candy bowls have run dry at our place. And I suspect that the treats vanished a long time ago.

I give a derisive snort, then cast a glance towards the front of the house as the screen door clicks open and Breezy steps out onto the front porch, still in her Lucille Ball get up -from the episode where Lucy and Ethel were working in the candy factory and shoving the chocolates every place possible- and our baby daughter, along her arm. I'm the only member of the family not dressed for the occasion. Even Shae-Lynne is in a puffy bright orange pumpkin suit with green leggings and a cap on her head that's made to resemble a stalk and two leaves.

"Mommy!" Collin drops my hand and bounds up the stairs. "Guess what I got!"

"What?" she asks, despite the fact the answer is quite clear. A shit load of candy that she's going to have to help eat while bitching about it going straight to her ass and hips. And that woman has the most phenomenal ass and hips I've ever seen. I mean, they've always been pretty damn exceptional. Along with her 'twins'. But since she's had the baby and she's breast-feeding and has only managed to lose fifteen of the nearly forty pounds she put on? Well there's just more for me to love. And trust me, I try to love it as much and as often as possible.

"Candy!" Collin cries, and holds up his basket. "Lots of candy!"

Breezy looks at me as I climb the steps and I hold up the pillowcase to back up Collin's claim.

"Looks like daddy's going to be taking a lot of treats to work," she remarks. "Did you guys have fun?"

"Tons!" Collin exclaims. "And guess what grandma gave us?"

"Hmmm…" she thinks for a moment. "Ginger cookies?!"

"You're smart mum-mum!" our son praises, and then hurries into the house when she uses her free hand to open the screen door. "I am so glad that I'm cute like daddy but smart like you!"

"I think our son just called me stupid," I complain, as I step into the foyer, then bend down to unclip the leashes from the dogs' collars, all four bounding after Collin.

"Actually," she says, as I close the heavy wood door and lock the chain and the deadbolt. "I think our son just called me ugly."

"So he's four and he successfully insulted both of us," I conclude, and then shrug off the backpack I've been hauling around on my shoulders all night. "Is it ever going to be your turn to go trick or treating?" I inquire, as I toe off my runners, and slipping out of my jacket, hang it on a hook next to the closet.

"Maybe when it's your turn to have babies, we'll switch," she responds, then turns her face up towards me for a kiss.

"You won't be pregnant or have a baby to take care of _every_ Halloween," I remind her, and she gives me this odd little, tight-lipped smile that serves to immediately freak me out. "What?" I ask, and hold my hands out in a silent request for my daughter.

Breezy passes Shae-Lynne over. "You remember how we agreed right before we got married that we'd have all of our kids close tighter? That after her…" she nods down at our daughter. "That we'd have a couple of more, two years apart?"

I nod.

"Well…let's put it this way…we're better at planning things than we ever realized or intended to be. How does the second and third about thirteen months apart sound to you?"

My stomach literally jumps up into my throat and my eyes widen. "This is Halloween, babe," I manage. "Not April Fool's."

"I guess I wasn't just run down and feeling sick because I gave birth only six months ago after all," Breezy chirps, then gives me a sugary sweet smile. "Surprise! Your swimmers are even trickier and tenacious than we thought!"

"But how…" I stutter and stammer. "I don't…how? Like seriously? How? I thought we were always careful and that we…"

"The only safe sex is no sex!" she cries, then stands on her tiptoes, pecks my cheek and snatches the backpack out of my hand. "I'm going to have some tea and some cookies!" she declares, and heads off, leaving me stunned and silent in her wake. "Are you coming, honey? Are you alive? Are you going to be okay?"

"I honestly don't know," I tell her and hurry behind. "Are you sure? Like a hundred percent sure?"

"Well the two little pink lines tell me I am," she says. "But I mean, there is room for error, you know."

"I don't want there to be room for error," I gently argue, realizing she's taking my reaction and my lack of proper words for the occasion as a sign that I'm not entirely thrilled about the concept of becoming a father again. A baby is always a huge blessing. Even if it's not planned or expected. "Do you want there to be room for error?" I ask, and she frowns at me over her shoulder.

"I just want to have your babies," she responds. "It doesn't matter how close or how far apart they are."

I smile, snatch her by the wrist, and yanking her into me, capture her mouth with mine in a long, soft kiss that leaves both of us breathless.

"Happy Halloween, daddy," she whispers against my lips.

I smile and press a kiss to her forehead.

After years of proverbially crapping and spitting in its face, life is damn good to me.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and just plain lurking!! I appreciate all of the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Afrozenheart412**

**CSINYMinute**

**Brinchen86**

**xSamiliciousx**

**DreamerChild 88**

**Storywriter**

**ParaCaerOuVoar**

**Yoda11**

**Collegegirl52**

**wolfeylady**

**Forest Angel**

**Hope06**

**Nienna Tinehtele**


	5. Bounce

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

**SO THIS CHAPTER TURNED OUT TO BE MORE OF A FLACK FAMILY DEAL. SOMEONE ASKED FOR MORE FAMILY STUFF AND SOME INTERACTIONS BETWEEN THEM AND DL, AND SEEING AS I'M NOT PLANNING TO USE THESE CHAPTERS IN THE OTHER STORY, CONSIDER THEM MISSING PIECES! ENJOY!**

**BEFORE I FORGET! ASHTON'S NAME HAS BEEN CHANGED! READ ON TO FIND IT WHAT HIS NEW NAME IS!**

* * *

**Bounce**

"I love your black dress, your red lips, your long legs, your high heels  
I love your thigh-high boots, your snake skin one-piece suit  
Yeah you really get me going when you put it all on  
But I like it a little better when you take it all off."  
-Bounce, Danko Jones

* * *

_**Flack's POV, MAY 18TH, 2012**_

"Are you _sure_ you're going to be okay?" my wife asks, for what seems like the hundredth time in the past hour alone, as she stands in the doorway of our kitchen, where I'm leaning back against the counter alongside of the dishwasher, baby Gage along my left forearm as he guzzles down the bottle of breast milk I hold in my right hand.

Collin sits at the kids size Thomas the Tank Engine table and chair set tucked into the far corner of the room, entertaining his little sister -parked alongside of him in her high chair, both kids munching on gold fish crackers as we wait for our take out to arrive- with his new 'see food' joke that he's picked up at junior kindergarten. Of course, Shae-Lynne doesn't understand the whole concept behind it, but she finds it enormously hilarious every time Collin opens his mouth to reveal chewed up crackers. The joke never gets old as far as she's concerned, and the more she laughs, the more he does it.

"I already told you that I'm…"

All words completely fail me when I look towards the door and get a good look at Breezy and what she's planning on walking out our front door in.

She's nothing short of walking sex in a figure hugging black spaghetti strapped dress that just grazes the tops of her knees. It's cut into a dangerously low V at the back and there's a pattern of a butterfly sewn into the fabric; the sparkling silver and red beading that make up the wings spread along each side of her spine. When she'd first brought home that dress, carefully wrapped in tissue and being carted in a Fredrick's of Hollywood back, I'd immediately assumed that she'd been out dropping a ridiculous amount of cash on those kinky underwear that she likes to wear and I like to peel off of her. I didn't understand the whole concept of crotchless panties, but if they make her feel sexy and desirable and they get the intended reaction out of me that she's aiming for, then I'm not going to stand in her way of buying the things. But that dress…while it's incredibly sexy and it makes me want to ship the kids off to their grandparents and then carry my wife upstairs -caveman or Rhett Butler, whatever she wants at that given time- there's only so much a guy can take. If I can't take my eyes off of her, well that means that every other red blooded male won't be able to either. It's honestly hard to believe that this is a woman that just gave birth to our second child in fifteen months only eight short weeks ago. She's curvy and voluptuous and is packing some serious junk in the truck and up top. And my main concern is that if she turns me into a horny bastard this easy, what are the drunken bastards she's going to encounter during her night out to do her?

"My husband speechless?" she asks with a grin, and bends down to yank up the side zipper on the knee high black leather boots she's got on. "Now that's a first."

I can't take my eyes off of her. She knows all about my 'hooker boot fetish'. I've never seen that _exact_ pair before, but goddamnit if they don't look like some dominatrix has sold them to her. And I'm suddenly getting this vision of her, with that flaming red hair -after Gage had been born, she'd gone ahead and grabbed some hair dye called 'Vibrant Red', considerably brightening her already stunning tresses- cascading down her back, her curves of display in a black leather cat suit and a whip to go with those boots.

And I am **not** into that kind of shit. At all. But if she ever gets the urge to play Mistress Bree-Anne on me…

Gage gives a small cough, and cry of what I'm quickly learning is frustration, and when I look down, I realize that in the midst of lusting over my wife, the bottle has slipped out of his mouth and there's formula trickling down his cheek.

"What is wrong with you?" Breezy asks, as she yanks up the zipper on her left boot. "You're acting…_weird_."

"Is that really what you're wearing tonight?" I inquire curiously, trying my best to keep that 'over protective, bossy husband' tone out of my voice.

I'm working hard on keeping that part of me under control. I've always been the jealous, suffocating type, even when I was just fourteen and I'd get my cackles up because I didn't like the way some guy was looking at her while they were talking in the hall at school. Since those wedding rings went on our fingers and that licence got signed and Breezy took my last name? I'm an insufferable bastard at best some day.

"It is," she replies, and walks across the kitchen and stands alongside of me. "Why?" she asks, as she uses the tips of her fingers -that blood red nail polish she sports just makes me shiver- to clear the milk off of our son's cheek and chin.

"Just asking," I say, and then clear my throat noisily. "It's a little…daring, don't you think?"

"Daring?" she grins at me. "Is that a polite way of saying I look like a skank?"

"What?" I laugh at that. "Of course not. I'd never think something like that, let alone say it. It's just that…" I chew on my bottom lip as I try to find the proper words for what is exactly going through my mind at that moment. As she stands before me in that dress and those boots, with her blood red fingernails and lips and her hair piled on the top of her head. Christ, had she been wearing her hair down, my kids would have been out on the porch already waiting for grandpa to come and pick them up.

Breezy crosses her arms over her chest and taps the toe of her left boot against the floor impatiently as she waits for me to continue.

"Babe…" I begin, praying that she'll show me some kind of mercy when I get through what I have to say. "The dress is hot and you're hot and I love you and I wish that we were alone so that me and you could desecrate this very counter…"

"But," she presses.

"But…but don't you think that maybe it's a little much to go out in public in? It's totally sexy and it's doing wonders for me, but if it has this effect on me, what are the guys in whatever bars you're going to going to be like?"

"We're going to one bar," she informs me. "A strip bar. So it's just a whole lot of horny women with money to burn."

"And a whole lot of naked oiled up men wanting you to shove bills down their underwear and who are just dying to get you into some back room to get a look at what you're wearing under that dress. I mean…you are wearing something under that, right?"

"You know those black lace undies you like so much?" Breezy asks. "The ones with the satin bows on my hips?"

I nod.

"I'll give you a private show when I get home," she promises, and gives me a wink. "And you're being totally paranoid, Donnie. It's just a dress. It's just a dress that I bought because I need to feel alluring and desirable. I need to feel…sexy."

"You are sexy," I tell her. "To me you're the sexiest woman on the planet. And it's not because you're wearing that," I nod down at her dress. "But because you're beautiful and you're my wife and the mother of my kids. That's what makes you incredibly sexy to me."

She smiles, then stands on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to my lips. "It's just a dress, Donnie. That's all. Just because I'm dressed like this…"

"A happy hooker you mean?" I ask, and then give an apologetic smile when she frowns.

"Just because I'm dressed like this doesn't mean I am like this," she informs me. "You know what I'm like."

"I do. But guys on the street don't," I lament. "And it's strangers that I'm worried about here. I'm worried about them checking you out and trying to pick you up. I know you're not easy but they don't and the next thing you know I'll be getting some call from one of the girls saying that you're in an ER somewhere in midtown 'cause some douche slipped a roofie into your drink and…"

"What's a roofie?" Collin asks curiously.

"Nothing is going to happen to me," Breezy assures me while effectively ignoring our son. "I'm with Stella and Lindsay! They're cops! They know how to kick some serious ass when push comes to shove. And if I was to kick someone in the b-a-l-l-s with these boots…"

"Why did you spell balls mommy?" Collin inquires, then winces and lays his hands over his own package. "And why would you kick someone in their privates? Timmy at school got in trouble for kicking an older kid there. Even though the older kid was being mean to him. It's not nice to kick someone in the privates, mommy. Even if they do deserve it."

"No one is going to be kicking anyone in the privates," I assure my son.

"Good!" Collin cries, and then gives a massive sigh of relief.

"You need to start using the proper names for…things…" Breezy glances down at my crotch. "When you're talking to him about that kind of stuff."

"Back to the dress…" I say, and she rolls her eyes. "I'm just worried about you, babe. Like I said, you look hot and I love you but that dress…well that's a 'night alone with daddy kind of dress'. Not a 'prance around midtown Manhattan type dress'. I just don't want all kinds of creepers coming on to you and giving you their phone numbers and…"

She silences me by laying her hand over my mouth. "Are you going to listen to me for a change?" she asks. "Can I get a word in edge wise? Defend myself for once?"

I nod.

"See these rings, Donnie?" she removes her hand from my mouth, then wiggles her fingers in front of my nose, causing the diamond in her engagement ring to sparkle. Below it rests her wedding ring, a simple rose gold band that goes perfectly with my own; a thick band with three distinct sections of different coloured gold. Yellow at the top, followed by white, then finished off with the palest of pink. Danny had laughed at me when I'd complained about how 'girlie' it was when I'd allowed Breezy to talk me into settling for it.

"A little pink is a small price to pay to spend the rest of your life with the woman of your dreams," he'd declared.

I nod in response to my wife's question.

"These rings mean that I belong to you," Breezy says. "That my heart belongs to you. And only you. Men can flirt, they can offer to buy me drinks, and they can try and pick me up. Who cares? I ignore them, I turn down the drinks, and I tell them to take a hike when they get to aggressive. At the end of the night I come home to you. And our kids. And no dress that I put on my body is going to change who I am inside or how I feel."

I smile, and then lean down to grace her lips with a soft kiss. "Thank you," I peck her forehead.

She reaches up to gently pat the side of my face, then wanders across the kitchen and heads for the fridge. I turn my attention back to Gage as my wife opens the door on the appliance.

"You can't say all of that and have that same attitude if you were wearing jeans a sweater that covered you all the way up to your chin?" I ask.

Breezy shoots me a foul look over her shoulder, then snags a bottle of water before closing the fridge door with her hip. "You never answered my original question," she says, as she twists the cap off of her water and takes a swig as she journeys over to the Thomas table.

"Honestly, babe? I can't even remember what the question was," I reply, as she perches on the edge of one of the kiddie chair and helps herself to a few of Collin's crackers, and I pluck the now empty bottle of milk from Gage's mouth. Setting it on the counter behind me, I lift my son up to my shoulder; supporting him with a forearm under his ass and the fingers of my left hand on the back of his head as I tap him lightly on the back with my palm.

"Mommy asked you if you were sure you were going to be okay," Collin answers for his mother.

Breezy and I grin at each other.

"Hard pill to swallow when you're four year old is smarter than you are," I sigh. "And yes, babe. I'll be fine. I know how to take care of my own kids."

"This is the first time you've been alone with all three," she reminds me.

"Mommy, do you like seafood?" our son asks curiously.

"No," she replies. "I don't."

He frowns. His forehead wrinkling as he realizes getting mom to play along is going to be a lot harder than it is to make his little sister roar with laughter. "But seafood is good!" he cries. "Are you sure you don't like seafood, mommy?"

"I love shrimp and crab and oysters," she informs him. "But I don't like your version of seafood. As in I can see the food inside of your mouth when you open it."

Collin sighs heavily and gives a dramatic pout. Then cocks his head to the side and gives me a devilish look out of the corner of his eye. "Do you like seafood, daddy?" he asks.

"How about you keep your mouth closed when you're eating," I suggest. "No one wants to see that. It's just plain gross."

"But it's funny!" Collin exclaims and getting up from the table, stands in front of his sister's high chair and opens his mouth wide for Shae-Lynne to see what he has in there. The baby in turn erupts into a fit of giggles and throws her head back, cheeks and ears quickly turning bright red.

"Remind me why we had more than one?" I ask my wife, as she scolds our oldest.

"Because we enjoy baby making too much," she replies. "And you can't seem to grasp the concept of contraception."

"How hard could it be to take the birth control pill?" I ask, and then duck out of the way when she tosses a gold fish cracker at me. "Easy woman, baby on board here. And don't you worry your pretty little head about me being alone with all three. Danny will be here."

"Talk about the blind leading the blind," Breezy snorts.

"Can you explain something to me?" I ask, as Gage lets out a massive burp and I manoeuvre his tiny body so he lies across my arm once again. "How come only one of these kids looks like me? How come only Collin has black hair and blue eyes? Why do the other two have curly red hair, freckles and brown eyes?"

"Maybe my genes are stronger than yours," my wife reasons. "What? Your feelings are hurt because you have two red heads? You wanted all of your children to be clones of you? Sorry, babe. Genetics dealt us these cards. Deal with it."

"Gets a little annoying out on the street when people are always asking you if they're your real kids," I say, smiling down at my baby boy as I comb my fingers through his soft curls.

It's a long standing joke among our families and friends that I've managed to spawn two kids with bright red hair and chocolate brown eyes. I guess maybe it's payback for all the times that Breezy's heard how much Collin looks like his daddy and shares nothing at all with his mommy. Truth of the matter is that I would take all of my kids whatever way God gave them to me. This kind of love runs deeper than physical appearance; it's an incredible bond formed on the realization that despite all your past screw ups, you've managed to help create something so beautiful and surreal. That you love the moment that pregnancy test comes back positive.

"When Lucy and I have babies, I hope they look like me," Collin pipes up.

"Say what now?" I look over at him. "When you and Lucy what?"

"Have babies," he responds. "When we get married like you and mommy and have babies I want them to look like me."

"Your four," I remind him. "No making life plans until you're at least…I don't know…thirty."

There's a distinct clicking noise from the front of the house, followed by the sound of a baby babbling and Danny and Lindsay's voices as they let themselves in the front door.

"Honey!" Danny bellows from the foyer. "I'm home!"

"Lucy!" Collin cries, his chair toppling over backwards as he jumps up and bolts from the room. And within a couple of minutes, he comes trotting back into the kitchen, hand in hand with the love of his life. The two of them are all beaming smiles and stars in their eyes and while both Breezy and I find it adorable, the look on Danny's face as he follows behind, Dominic on his hip, tells me that he's still having some serious issues with this 'baby years' crush our kids have developed on each other.

"Relax…" I order. "When they're fourteen they'll hate each other and Lucy will be wishing Collin would just drop off the face of the earth. They're babies. Get that pickle out of your ass."

"Dollar for the swear jar!" Lindsay cries, as she wanders over to me, stands on her tip toes and presses a kiss to my cheek.

"Why Miss Monroe…" I eye her up and down. "You clean up pretty nice."

"It's Mrs Messer to you, Flack," Danny grumbles. "Whoa…" he lays a hand over his heart as Breezy stands up. "Check you out Mrs Flack…"

"Hey!" I snap.

"I used the proper term!" Danny defends himself. "You're actually letting her go out of the house like that?"

"Situation is beyond my control," I say, and watch as Collin escorts Lucy to the kiddie table and shares both his chair and his gold fish crackers with her. "Now that is true love," I declare. "Gives up the comfort of his own chair and coughs up some of his food."

"Perfect man," Breezy comments. "I'm still working on getting _you _to remember that your dirty socks and underwear go in the laundry basket, not on the floor."

"And that the toilet seat goes down after use," Lindsay says, as she and my wife exchange kisses on the cheek.

"And that the fresh roll of toilet paper goes on the roll, not on the ledge of the sink," Breezy says. "And that you put a new bag of milk in the container when the other one is empty…"

"And that twelve pairs of jeans and five sweaters are too big of a load to go in the wash at one time," Lindsay says. "And that you're not supposed to staple gun Christmas lights to the window frame."

"One time!" Danny exclaims. "That was one time! Let it go! Do I really have to hear about it over and over again?"

"Give up on bragging about your moments of stupidity?" Lindsay asks, and stands on her tip toes to kiss his cheek. "Never."

"We've got to get going," Breezy announces, and grabs her purse and a sheer black shawl off of its resting place on the kitchen table. "Stella will be here in five minutes. She's DD tonight."

"Must be something in the water at the lab," Danny muses. "First I fall victim to marriage and kids…"

"Kids and marriage," I correct. "The Messer spawn was already created before the marriage ever happened. Get it right. We both did things backwards, Dan-o."

"…then it was Mac and Stella shacking up," Danny continues "Then Flack decides enough with the bachelor days, Stella's pregnant now and Adam…Adam's getting married in a week! Now is it just me or is that just the craziest thing ever?"

"That all of that happened in such a short period of time or that Adam is getting married?" Lindsay asks, as she and Breezy tend to kissing their respective children goodbye. And give them stern warnings about junk food and bedtimes.

"Both," he replies. "But more so the latter. I mean, it's Adam."

"And Eve," I add, and both Danny and I burst into laughter. We haven't been able to keep a straight face about the gruesome twosome since they began dating two years after Breezy had brought one of her colleagues to an NYPD hockey game both Adam and I were playing in. Eve and Adam had hit it off right away and had started living together only three weeks after their initial meeting.

"Adam is a very nice guy," Breezy frowns, and motions for me to bend down to give her a kiss. I comply. Happily, of course. "And he's kind of cute, too."

I grimace and shudder at the thought of my wife having a crush on Adam Ross.

"We're off!" Lindsay cries, and loops her arm through Breezy's.

"You be good!" I call to my wife, and she blows me a kiss from the doorway.

"Just remember that I love you honey!" Danny yells out to Lindsay. "That all those oiled up, naked men are most likely gay! That they're just interested in your money! In bleeding you dry! And that you have a husband at home that worships the ground you walk on!"

He receives no response. Except for both of our wives laughing and the shutting of the front door.

Both Danny and I sigh heavily and look at each other.

"I guess there's a least one positive thing that can come out of my wife getting shit faced tonight," I say.

Danny arches a quizzical eyebrow.

"Means I get to enjoy uninhibited Breezy when she gets home," I grin.

"Way too much information, Flack!" he scowls.

I chuckle and look down at my infant son in my arms.

Who knows? Maybe uninhibited Breezy will bless my life with another gorgeous little red head.

* * *

**Huge thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and even just lurking! I appreciate all of the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

**CSINYMinute**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Brinchen86**

**wolfeylady**

**xSamiliciousx**

**Daisy Angel**

**ParaCaerOuVoar**

**Blue Eyed Author**

**College girl 52**

**Dreamer Child 88**

**Brokenandlonelyangyl**

**Hope06**

**Story writer**

**Yoda 11**


	6. Tough Little Boys

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

**THANKS TO EVERYONE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVES!**

**PERFECT SONG AT THE START FOR FLACK AND DANNY!**

* * *

**Tough Little Boys**

"Well I never once  
Backed down from a punch  
Well I'd take it square on the chin  
But I found out fast  
That bullies just laugh  
And we've got to stand up to them

So I didn't cry when I got a black eye  
As bad as it hurt, I just grinned  
But when tough little boys grow up to be dads  
They turn into big babies again.

If you were to ask, my wife would just laugh  
She'd say 'I know all about men  
How tough little boys grow up to be dads  
They turn into big babies again'."  
-Tough Little Boys, Gary Allan

* * *

_**Flack's POV**_

"I am telling you Flack," Danny says, as he sits on the floor in the middle of my family room; eleven-month-old Dominic flat on his back in between daddy's open legs, giggling and blowing raspberries as his old man changed his diaper. "If someone had have told me a few years ago that this would be my life, I would have told them they were crazy."

I completely understand where my best friend is coming from. At times, it seems like just yesterday when we were both single guys, trolling the bars and drowning our stress and tension in endless rounds of beer and JD while shooting some pool or playing darts. Hopeful that the women we were busting our pitiful pick-up lines on were just as drunk as we were and wouldn't mind escorting us home and keeping us company through the night. In our carefree -and for the most part miserable- bachelor days, it would be the Mets or Rangers playing on the television in either of our dank, cluttered apartments -'man caves' as my wife loves to say- while we indulged in take out and a couple of two-fours. These days, instead of being surrounded by empty bottles of Bud and the remnants of a few pizzas, it's abandoned sippy cups with left over apple juice or long drained baby bottles and chewed up food our kids have spit out onto their plates or into our hands because they can't stand what we're feeding them. Instead of someone taking _my _order, it's "I only want a samb-ich if the crust is off, daddy'" or "that's not how mommy does it; she puts the red stuff on my mac and cheese' or my personal favourite: "Mommy makes a smiley face on my bologna with the mustard." Instead of letting messes pile up and ignoring mountains of laundry shoved into every available corner or inches of dust on the furniture, we're making damn sure that the house is clean, or at least somewhat respectable, before our spouses get home and we're paying very close attention to the 'Honey Do' lists that Linds and Breezy tack to the fridge on a near nightly basis.

We're whipped. Plain and simple. There's really no other word to describe the state of our manhood. Danny and I will admit it to each other, but firmly deny all accusations from outsiders about us being tied around our wives' baby fingers. Is it so wrong that I like to keep my wife happy? In every sense of the word? If I prefer coming home to a peaceful house instead of a war zone? If I value both my sanity and my 'package' and prefer to keep them both where they are? If I'd rather stay on her good side as opposed to being turfed to the couch because I didn't do a couple loads of laundry or empty the dishwasher or -much to my horror- clean the Diaper Genie in the nursery? It's simply much easier and keeps my home and my marriage running like a relatively well-oiled machine if I just tow the line. And say 'yes, dear' to no matter what she's asking me to do or demanding of me. Even if I didn't hear her or pay attention the first fifteen times.

It's love. That's my one and only excuse. Despite her nagging and often chronic bitching -her complaints mostly stem from the fact she's had two kids so close together and how tired out and stressed she is from motherhood and her full time job- I love the woman beyond all comprehension. Our marriage isn't perfect; we argue about dumb ass things and tell each other we hate one another at least a half a dozen times a month. But we never go to bed angry and I never leave the house without telling her that I love her and that I'll 'see ya later'. Never say goodbye; that's our motto. We always part with a hug and a kiss and we always check up on each other via phone calls or emails throughout the day. When the job allows me some time to breathe, I make the trip into Queens and surprise her, food in hand, at lunchtime. In the good weather we sit on one of the picnic tables on school grounds, in the winter or the rain we seek shelter in my squad, sharing stories on our respective days. Make every moment count. Words we're living by. We're trying to make up for the nearly four years that we were apart; where we were still emotionally connected to each other, but physically absent from one another's lives.

"Wouldn't give it up for anything in the world though," I say to Danny, as he wrestles with his son in order to get the diaper on the kid's bare ass. For someone that has the experience of another one before the evil spawn between his legs, I've never seen someone so damn awkward with the little things. This is a guy with a degree in forensics, who'd graduated at the top of his class and he works alongside death and blood and gore every damn day. So it's hell on the nerves watching him fight with the Huggies and use way too many wipes to clean a shitty ass. Or how he grimaces and gags if one of the kids throws up or he has no Kleenex to wipe a snotty nose and has to resort to using his fingers.

"But you're a natural Flack…" he gives a heavy, forlorn sigh and shakes his head in dismay as Dominic giggles noisily. Apparently pleased with himself for giving his daddy such a hard time. "You've been on top of your game when it comes to daddy-hood right from day one. Think about it. How easy you took to it the second you saw your boy that day in B's front yard. You never had any reservations or second thoughts."

"How would you know?" I ask, and transfer Gage from one arm to the other.

Fresh off of another bottle -I swear the kid does nothing but eat- and his hair still slightly damp from the bath I'd given him in the kitchen sink, he's warm and content in a Rangers sleeper as we lounge together on the couch. My bare feet up on the cluttered coffee table and my eyes riveted on my baby boy's face as he stares up at me with his huge brown eyes; his nose wiggling as he sucks busily on his soother. His left hand wraps tightly around my right index finger and I use the pad of my thumb to caress the silky skin of his wrist. I'm in awe of him; of how pure and innocent this life I've helped create is. Becoming a daddy never gets old; I never got tired of seeing my baby on the ultrasounds or hearing their heartbeat or watching them come into the world. It's a miracle and the love I have for my kids surpasses anything I've ever thought possible. And the respect and adoration I have for their mother knows no bounds.

Even if she does get on my nerves sometimes.

"Come on…" Danny wipes sweat off his brow with his forearm and finally manages to get a clean diaper on his son. "Like you ever had any qualms about being a daddy? Like you ever wondered what the hell you were getting yourself into?"

"I'm human, Mess. I was shitting myself when I realized Collin was mine. And each time that Breezy told me she was pregnant. You don't think it freaked me out to go from having no real commitments to suddenly having a kid to worry about? Just 'cause I loved him the second I saw him and I always loved her doesn't mean I wasn't spooked."

"What is it about those two pink lines on an EPT that turn us into weak, pathetic bastards?" Danny asks, as he snaps the buttons together on Dominic's sleeper, than playfully slaps the kid on his diapered ass when the baby rolls over onto his stomach, gets up on all fours and crawls away. On his way to where Collin in Lucy, clad in their pyjamas, are cuddled under a blanket on the floor in front of the television watching Cats and Dogs with Luna and Sprinkles sprawled out on the ground alongside of them. Shae-Lynne is already fast asleep in her crib upstairs; the baby monitor on the coffee table alerting me to any problems if they arise. When I'd left her room, both Copper and Todd had been camped out in their usual spots under the crib.

"Maybe it's the fear of the unknown, of things being out of our control," I reply, smiling down at my son as he lets out content sigh and tightens his grip on my fingers. "We worry that something is going to go wrong and we know that there's no way we can stop it or fix it if it does. We stress over keeping the baby and our wives healthy, making sure they're getting everything they need. We sit through every ultrasound and wonder if it's the time those doctors are going to come and tell us there's something not quite right. And then we freak ourselves out over how the delivery is going to go down."

"And then there's the sleepless nights we know are going to come the second the kid comes out," Danny adds, gathering up the dirty diaper and slowly getting to his feet, knees and back cracking the entire way.

"You're getting old, Dan-o," I tease. "You're in some rough shape over there."

"Bite my ass Flack," he grumbles, and tosses the diaper in the trash can just inside the door to the laundry area. "I'm serious though…" he says, as he wanders over to the nearby recliner and plops down. "…lots of things to worry about when the test comes back positive. I'm the 'freak myself out over stuff in the future'. I think about the exhaustion and the late night feedings and bouts of colic and croup. About finding a good school and whether or not they'll get teased on the playground and if they'll get into drugs and fall into the wrong crowd once they'd hit high school. Then there's boyfriends and girlfriends and college and…"

"And I thought I was a paranoid bastard," I chide. "I'm more the 'sneak into the nursery every half hour with a flashlight in my hand to make sure my kid is still breathing type'. Farthest I think ahead is the next day. About what kind of day they're going to have and if mommy got enough sleep and if she's feeling okay. I'd drive myself nuts if I thought too far ahead."

"Well there is one thing that you should be worrying about," Danny says. "Something that's staring you right in the face and could last long into the future."

"What's that?" I ask.

My best friend nods in the direction of the t.v. Where Lucy and Collin are giggling at the antics of the beagle puppy and a Siamese cat on the movie and my honorary nice is calling my son her recently established nickname for him: Co-co. I guess Collin is just too much of a mouthful for her at the moment.

"Give it a rest, will ya?" I give a snort and roll my eyes. "They're babies. Let them be kids. There's nothing wrong with them sitting together under a blankie watching a movie."

"A blankie?" Danny laughs hysterically. "Is that what it's come down to Daddy Flack? You talking toddler speak? You going to be calling bedtime night-nights soon? Or how about going into Sinclair's office and asking him how many more sleeps it is until you get your next raise? Or going to the duty cap and inquiring about nappy time?"

I looked up from Gage long enough to shoot my best friend a scowl. "Quit being an ass," I retorted. "And stop this obsessing over my son and your daughter. They're just little kids; best friends. Trust me, once they get into high school, they'll probably hate each other. They'll get into their different little cliques and they won't be able to stand one another. It's highly unlikely anything long term and meaningful is going to come out of that," I nod in the direction of our kids.

"I don't know about that…" Danny shakes his head. "Anything can happen. This could be the start of a lifelong thing. An epic romance story."

I roll my eyes.

"Look at you and B. You guys first hooked up when you were kids. Now you're married, three bambinos of your own."

"Breezy and I were fourteen when we met," I argue. "Not four and two and a half. Big difference."

"All I'm saying is never to underestimate the human heart, a'right? It knows what it wants and who it wants and their hearts may never change. Next thing you know, we'll blink and they'll be getting hitched and giving us grandkids."

"Anyone ever tell you that you're a total pain?" I ask. "Just let it go, Danny. Let it go or deal with it. One or the other."

"Fine…" he leans his head back against, closes his eyes, and lacing his fingers together, places them on his chest. "I'm warning you now though…"

Sighing, I glance over at him.

Danny cracks his eyes open. "Your spawn hurts my baby girl…"

"Enough!" I order. "Get a grip!"

"Just a fair word of warning," my best friend says. "I will rain a world of hurt down on your boy there if he breaks her heart."

"What can I do if she breaks his? Hunt you down and slaughter you? Can I take it out on you if she messes with him?"

"All's fair in love and war," Danny reasons.

I shake my head and turn my attention back to Gage, and managing to pull my finger free, lift my son up to my chest and settled him against it.

"You spoil that kid way too much," Danny says. "Pick 'em up too much and they get spoiled. Turns them into wimps."

"What the hell kind of parenting books have you been reading?" I ask. "Or is that just some pearl of wisdom you've pulled out of your ass? 'Cause everything that I've read says that you can't spoil a baby too much. That they need a lot of physical contact. Makes the bond between ya better."

"I'm just sayin'…." Danny sighs. "So when are you and B gonna pop out another one? You guys seem to be fond of keeping them all close together. We expecting another red headed devil soon or what?" he asks.

"Or what," I reply. "Gotta do the grownup to make a baby right? It's been nearly five months since any dirty has gone down in this house."

Danny's eye widen.

"She was pregnant," I quickly defend my wife. "Doctor put her on that whole, 'no sex after you hit the seventh month rule' and it's only been nine weeks since he was born and she's just not…I don't know…into it."

"Into it or into you?" Danny asks, and then holds his hands up in surrender when I scowl at him.

"She's tired," I reason with a shrug. "She's already back to work, we've got three kids, all under the age of five…"

My best friend nods in understanding.

"…house to take care of, bills to pay, some health issues…" I continue. "Lots of things. She hasn't been feeling right since she had him. You know all of that."

"Still got the fatigue and the backaches?" Danny asks. "How about the…" he looks down at his crotch. "You know…the never ending monthly visitor?"

"I think it's one unwelcome house guest that's sticking around for a quite a bit. And yeah…still got all the other problems too."

"That's what doctors are for, Flack. To talk about these things. Find out what the problems are. Could be something, could be nothing. Best to find out, right?"

"You wanna tell her that?" I ask. "'Cause she's still brushing it off like it _is _nothing."

"Two ferociously stubborn people in one house," he shakes his head. "Not good."

I sigh heavily and resting my head back against the couch, relax under the warmth of my son's tiny body resting against me as I comb the fingers of one hand through his curly red hair. "I just don't want there to be anything wrong with her," I say. "I just don't want to find it it's something we can't fix. I want it to be something simple, ya know?"

"You won't know any of that unless you take care of it," Danny responds.

"I just worry that…" I sigh. "I just worry that if it's something really bad…I can't lose her, Danny. I can't live without her."

There's a long silence, then I hear the rustling of clothes as he climbs out of the recliner and I fell the weight of his hand on my shoulder. Opening my eyes, I find myself staring into his.

"Let's hope you never have to," he says.

I nod in agreement and close my eyes once again.

That's one nightmare I don't want to ever experience.

* * *

**Preview for next chapter: Drunken time in Dunkin' Donuts for Linds and Breezy!**

**Huge thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and just lurking!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Brinchen86**

**Afrozenheart412**

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**storywriter**

**daisyangel**


	7. Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

**THIS CHAPTER IS GOING OUT TO AFROZENHEART412 AND BRINCHEN 86. HOPE YOU LIKE THE LINDS/BREEZY TIME!**

* * *

**Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off**

"She'll start with kickin' out of her shoes  
Loose an earring in her drink  
Leave her jacket in the bathroom stall  
Drop a contact down the sink

Them pantyhose ain't gonna last too long  
If the DJ puts Bon Jovi on  
She might come home in a table cloth  
Ya tequila makes her clothes fall off

She can handle any champagne brunch  
A bridal shower with Bacardi punch  
Jello shooters full of Smirnoff  
But Tequila makes her clothes fall off."  
-Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off, Joe Nichols

* * *

_**Lindsay's POV**_

My best friend is the perfect example of why you should never judge a book by its cover.

By day, she's a mild mannered, often scattered brained and attentive mother of three. She's a schoolteacher by trade; casual pantsuits, pencil skirts and blouses buttoned up to the top, her hair in a ponytail or bun and no makeup gracing her youthful features. She's a content housewife who wears her husband's sweats and t-shirts around the house whether or not she has an enormous pregnant belly to cover up or not, and who adores him with every fibre of her being and is his biggest supporter and one woman cheering section at his hockey games. Who in all intents and purposes, looks like one of those fresh face actresses on Noxema commercials, the apple pie and milk type of girl that every mother in the world would love their son to bring home one day. Who'd you expect to find bringing snacks to their kids' soccer matches and spending her spare time serving on the PTA.

Nothing can be further from the truth when it comes to Bree-Anne Flack. I'd learned quickly that under the sweet and slightly naïve personality lingered a fractured and troubled girl. Someone who'd spent years hiding secrets and who'd sacrificed her own personal happiness to protect her child and the man that she had loved since she was thirteen years old. Who'd felt oppressed by her strict, God fearing family and had been made to feel as if she was a disgrace, an embarrassment, for simply being a human being that made human being mistakes. Instead of following the letter of the religious law, she'd followed her heart. She'd admittedly handled things wrong; she should have neither married Dean in the first place, nor had an affair behind his back. She had made mistakes and would forever be haunted by them and the actions she'd been forced to take. But in no way had she deserved to be disowned by her family for choosing to get her life back in order. For finally reconciling with the love of her life, the father of her child, and settling down and starting on that long, often rocky road of forever with him.

She hasn't spoken to her parents since she'd told them that she was moving out of their house and marrying Flack. They hadn't even given her a chance to explain how he'd mysteriously reappeared in her life and how she'd never stopped loving him and wanting to be with him. Instead, her mother had stood by without even an ounce of compassion or reason as her husband kicked their only daughter and their grandson out of their house. And out of their lives.

Bree-Anne doesn't talk about that day with her parents. And as her second wedding anniversary approaches and she silently and contently devotes her life to being a mother and a spouse, I know for a fact it bothers her that her family has nothing to do with the kids. She doesn't care what they say about her or how they choose to treat her, but like any mother, she'd defend her children to the death and to protect them and preserve their happiness at all costs. They're far from perfect; that's what makes their family so damn appealing and lovable. Everyone is free to make their mistakes and to learn from them. So maybe sometimes Collin's too mouthy and lets out that demon child attitude problem of his, and maybe Flack works way too much and often has a hard time turning off that cop side of him -he's strict and no nonsense at home, sometimes to fault- but this is a family that loves one another. Two parents that would work themselves to the bone to provide for their children; a husband and wife that in their pasts have concurred some of the darkest days of their lives and have managed to prosper together.

Maybe it's the flaws that lie just under the attractive, seemingly flawless edges that had drawn me to Bree-Anne; imperfections had made us so compatible as friends. We come from similar upbringings. The youngest child and only girl in a large, middle class family with a deeply rooted faith based system. Throughout our school years, we'd both been viewed as unpopular, opting to devote our time and energy to our studies and making and maintaining a handful of tight relationships instead of being part of an enormous social circle. And we'd both suffered significant loses and had been wounded emotionally as a long term result. While my experience had been far more tragic and horrific, losing my best friends at the hands of Daniel Cadence and suffering from the survivor's guilt that has plagued me nearly all of my life. I still can't shake the sounds of the gunshots and the screams as I cowered in the bathroom of that diner, or forget the tremendous grief and sorrow that had my friends' families had suffered through. And while I've coped well and I've been fortunate enough to both accept the love and support from those closest too many, there's a part of me that will always be slightly guarded when it comes to establishing relationships; a lingering fear that I'll lose them the moment I get close to them.

Bree-Anne's ordeal, while not as horrendous, had been enough to permanently damage any human spirit. As if living through an emotionally abusive and volatile marriage hadn't been enough -I personally didn't blame her for seeking love and comfort in the arms of someone else, especially when she had such an incredibly history with that person- she'd had to live through the shame when her husband had not only murdered someone, but had been responsible for stealing drugs from an NYPD raid. Dean had been an embarrassment to anyone remotely close to him; he didn't warrant an ounce of sympathy and certainly didn't deserve to have someone like Bree-Anne in his life.

While we've talked about our pasts and she'd opened up about how it had felt to be vilified on the stand by the same monster who'd victimized her during their marriage, I can't begin to understand how it must have felt to sit in room crowded with not only strangers but with her family and closest friends as well, and bear every one of her dirty little secrets. And I can't imagine how hard it had been on her to feel as if she had had no other choice but to lie about the paternity of her son; to force herself to stay away from someone she loved to the ends of the earth simply because she felt as if she had to protect both of them.

All is well that ends well, I suppose. While there's some psychological scars we both carry that will never fade, I like to think we're remarkably well adjusted. We've managed to successfully maintain our careers while balancing the rigors of marriage and child rearing. Despite our trust issues, we have stable, happy personal relationships; our husbands are not only the loves of our lives, but the lights of them as well. No matter how often we bitch and complain about them, Danny and Flack are the constants in our lives, the two people that we cherish the most and who we know will always have our backs no matter what. Who won't betray us our ever let us fall. Love is in no way an easy street; but it's a two way one and we work damn hard on keeping it flowing relatively smoothly.

Friendship wise, at the risk of sounding cliché, Bree-Anne and are two halves of the same whole. Our blemishes are what bonded us together, and keep us in tune with each other. We know that we can always count on each other to lend emotional support, well meaning -if not always appreciated- advice, and the proverbial kick in the ass if either of us mess up. On the outside, we may appear sweet and 'girl next door, take home to mom', but inside we're both enigmas. Challenges. Which is what both keeps the men in our lives so entertained, and keeps them coming back for more.

"Anything amazing is hard work," Flack had declared at his own wedding. "And anything that feels this damn good is definitely worth fighting for."

Bree-Anne keeps him on his toes to say the least. And if he'd only known exactly what kind of spectacle she'd made of herself at the strip club, he'd most likely keep her locked inside the house for the rest of their marriage. Underneath that soccer mom, PTA persona was a wild child desperate to get out, and the second we'd stepped into that club and she'd ordered a round of snake bite shots and Singapore Slings for everyone -minus a pregnant Stella, of course- and two bottles of Grey Goose vodka, I'd known that what I was about to witness would go down in history. Mrs. Flack was a party animal; a side of her I'd never witnessed before. And if downing drink after drink and shot after shot wasn't enough, she'd kept us all entertained by her constant trips to the stage with dollar bills down the neckline of her dress that the dancers plucked out with their teeth.

And the girl had some pretty good rhythm. During breaks in sets in which the in house DJ played for the crowd, she'd joined the crowds of women that descended on the stage and for lack of a better term, 'shook her booty'. We'd been unable to stop ourselves from both laughing hysterical and cheering her on, and Stella had snapped a few pictures with her Iphone of Bree-Anne working the stripper's pole as good as any pro. Shimmying and shaking with such skill and finesse -the best part had been when she'd sunk down onto her haunches and then had slowly slithered to her feet, running her hands sinuously up the pole and pretending to drag her tongue against it as well- that one of the male dancers had come out during his break to stuff money down _her_ clothes.

Safe to say, if she was that dangerous and bad in a public place, I would only imagine what kind of show Flack was in for when his intoxicated wife finally stumbled through the front door.

We'd gotten as far as the end of her driveway -Stella had dropped our drunk asses off- when Bree-Anne had announced that she just wasn't quite ready to re-enter the land of seemingly endless loads of laundry and mountains of housework and 'not being able to pee in private without calling for mommy'. So instead of staggering up the front walk and fumbling with keys in her state, she'd announced that we were heading for Dunkin' Donuts three blocks away. She was in the mood for a hot chocolate and a donut -"My addiction," she'd declared "I am married to a cop remember. Coffee and donuts?"- and she wasn't going take no or "I'm too tired" for an answer.

So at two in the morning we're wobbling on our heels -more from the alcohol surging through our systems than the fact that we're used to flats, sandals and bare feet- through the front door of the twenty-four hour donut joint. We're loud and obnoxious; our random fits of laughter and our potty mouths attracting the attention of both the young woman behind the counter and the several patrons lingering over their coffee and snacks. I suppose we're also being stared at because, shamefully enough, we probably look like 'women of the night' in dresses that barely 'cover our bits', as Danny likes to say.

And of course, my best friend is quite the sight to behold in not only those hooker boots, but the neon pink feather boa that's wrapped around her neck and the cheap plastic, bejewelled tiara that's perched upon the top of her head.

"You look like a drag queen!" I cry, then burst into a fit of laughter. "Like you've just won Miss Drag Queen of America or something! You remind me of Pat.."

"Patrick Swayze in To Wong Foo!" Bree-Anne shrieks at the same time as me. "I loved that movie! Miss Vida Boheme, baby!"

"I loved John Leguizamo!" I exclaim. "Chi Chi Rodriquez! And that part where they're driving in their old caddy and they're alongside the train and that song by The Commodores is playing…God…what is the name of that song?"

"She's a Brick House," Bree-Anne bursts into song and proceeds to get her groove on right there in the middle of the donut shop. "She's mighty mighty, just letting it all hang out. She's a brick house, that lady's stacked and that's a fact, ain't holding nothing back."

When she finally finishes her impromptu performance, the clerk behind the counter and the customers at their respective tables burst into applause and whistling, and she curtsies to her loyal subjects several times before giving a polished and polite Queen Elizabeth style wave and blowing kisses.

"Remind me again why I stay friends with you?" I ask, my cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of red as I follow Bree-Anne to the counter.

"I keep you young," she declares, giving her ass a shake as she yanks the hem of dress down as far as it will go. "Same reason my husband stays married to me."

"Are you kidding me?" I laugh. "You're the one that's given him all that grey hair. He stays married to you because he can't live without you."

"Well see how true that is when word gets back to him about my little performance. See that guy at the table in the far back?"

I glance over my shoulder. "What about him?" I ask.

"That's one of his dad's buddies. So you can guarantee I'll be the talk of the town down at O'Toole's when my father in law goes for his daily pint and bitch session tomorrow."

"What can I get for your ladies?" the young server behind the counter asks. Candace, or Candy as she's been letting all of our kids call her for the past year, is a single mother of three struggling to make ends meet after her husband decided to up and leave her for her older brother. Just when you thought nothing could be more complicated and bizarre than your own life, you hear something like that. "Or should I say gentlemen?"

"Oh very funny Candy," Bree-Anne rolls her eyes. "You know, it's a definite sign that you feed your kids way too much junk when you know the Dunkin Donuts girl on a first name basis."

"Or a sign that your husband drinks way too much coffee for his own good," Candy grins.

"He's a cop!" Bree-Anne cries. "Coffee and donuts might as well be their own food groups!"

"That is the worst stereotype ever," Candy says. "Saying that all cops drink coffee and eat donuts."

"Apparently you don't spend a lot of time around boys in blue," I say. "Because they do eat a lot of donuts and drink way too much coffee."

"I guess unlimited use of the handcuffs make up for it," the younger woman snickers.

"Oh absolutely," Bree-Anne laughs. "In fact, he's been a bad boy lately and I think he deserves to be shackled to the bed post later tonight."

"That isn't punishment," I declare. "That's his most perverted dream come true."

"Actually, his most perverted dream come true involves the handcuffs and me and Rachel Bilson," Bree-Anne says. "But that is just a whole other story."

"You been making friends with Jack Daniels tonight?" Candy asks, and moves to prepare our order.

"Are we that predictable?" I inquire. "Like, seriously?"

"Two pink sprinkles donuts and two large hot chocolates with a quarter chocolate milk to cool them down and whipped cream and chocolate shavings on the top," the clerk answers confidently.

"We really need to find a different place to hang out," Bree-Anne sighs, as she pulls her cell phone out of her purse and checks for any missed calls. "And it's actually Jack Daniels, Jim Beam _and_ Jose Cuervo," she adds.

"Nights like this are exactly why the old ball and chain doesn't let you out of his sight," Candy teases.

"Trust me, the leash is just long enough for me to get some sort of playtime," Bree-Anne says. "He's already left me three voice mail messages and four texts. Wondering where I am and when I'll be home and reminding me that I have three kids to take care of early in the morning."

"He's just a concerned and loving husband," I tell my best friend.

She rolls her eyes and slips her phone back into her purse. "Husband? What husband?" she asks and looks around the donut shop. "I don't have a husband."

"You'd die without him," I declare, and she gives a broad smile in agreement. "So did you hear?" I ask Candy as she brings our drinks and snacks. "Our kids are getting married."

Candy arches a quizzical eyebrow.

"It's all planned!" Bree-Anne exclaims. "We already have the date picked out, the church is on speed dial, the guest list is already prepared…"

"Your kids are babies still," Candy reminds us.

"So?" I ask, and pick a sprinkle off my donut and pop it into my mouth before sliding into the nearest stool in front of the counter. "There's nothing wrong with being prepared. Collin and Lucy are already madly in love with one another and we are damn determined that nothing is ever going to change that! They're destined to be together and we're going to make that happen."

"Well good luck with that," Candy says, as Bree-Anne tosses her a ten and waves off the change. "Anything can happen between now and then," she continues, as she leans against the counter and my best friend takes a seat beside me. "I mean, Collin could hit sixteen and decide he's gay for one."

"Bite your tongue!" Bree-Anne cries. "His father would have a stroke! Donnie's hell bent that Collin is going to be just like him."

"Christ, what a terrifying thought that is," I grumble. "Another Don Flack Junior wandering the earth? God help us all. Lock up your daughters or stock up on birth control. Or better yet, slap on some chastity belts or sterilize them all together."

"He's not that bad," Bree-Anne defends her husband. "Okay…so he had that whole little manwhore thing he went through right before we got back together. But he's not like that now. He's a one woman man. Or at least I hope he is…"

"He's too scared of you to ever cheat," Candy teases her. "He knows you'd chop it off."

"Yeah…she threatens him about it every day," I laugh, and elbow my best friend playfully. "Don would never, ever cheat on you," I assure her. "He's wholly and completely devoted to you. He worships the ground you walk on. And he sure wouldn't risk losing his family. That and he knows that Danny and I would kill him, chop his body into tiny pieces and scatter them all over the city."

"Well if he ever does cheat," Candy says. "Let's hope it's not with one of your brothers."

Bree-Anne makes a gagging noise.

"So do you ever do any of your stripper moves at home?" I tease my best friend. "Do you ever break out the g-strings? Do you have a stripper pole in your bedroom that we don't know about?"

"Are you kidding?" she laughs. "Waste my best moves on him? Never…"

"I couldn't afford her anyway," a deep, familiar voice says from behind us, and both Bree-Anne and I nearly choke on mouthfuls of donut.

"Speak of the devil…." I say, coughing and sputtering as I glance over my shoulder where Flack, in a pair of faded, baggy jeans, a black Henley shirt, and a NYPD windbreaker, stands with his arms crossed over his chest. His feet are bare in his sneakers, his hair is mussed and there's a couple days worth of stubble on his face. And the expression on his face is stuck somewhere between amusement and annoyance.

"Hi honey!" Bree-Anne chirps. "Let's play how many cops in the shop! I see one…" she points at me. "Two!" she gestures at her husband. "What are you doing here? You put a GPS chip in all of my underwear or something?"

"A little birdie called my dad and he called me," Flack gives an appreciative nod to his father's friend in the back corner of the shop. "Told me that something that belonged to me was singing and dancing in the middle of Dunkin Donuts."

"She's a brick house…" Bree-Anne starts to sing once again, then pipes down when her husband shoots her a foul, unimpressed look. "Please tell me you didn't leave the kids alone or that they're not all bundled up in the car at two thirty in the morning."

Flack gives a snort and shakes his head. "Danny's crashed on the basement couch. He'll take care of things if need be. And speaking of taking care of things…don't you think it's time you found your way home?"

"Ummm…" she reaches out and picks up his right hand and turns it so the watch on his wrist is facing up. "No…I don't turn into a pumpkin for another half an hour."

A smirk tucks at the corner of his mouth. "I think it's time to go, Bree-Anne," he says, then gently wraps his fingers around the top of her right arm.

"Alright…alright…" she sighs heavily and gets to her feet, then stumbles in her heels and lands flat against his chest. "I've got something just for you when we get home," she declares, and trails a finger all the way from the bottom button on the neck of his shirt, to the top of his jeans. "Something very, very, very special," she tucks at his belt.

"Time to go," Flack repeats, and slipping out of his jacket, drapes it over her shoulders. "You too Mrs Messer," he says, and jerks his head towards the door.

I give a reluctant sigh, bid farewell to Candy and then fall in step alongside of Bree-Anne as we follow behind Flack.

My best friend nudges me with her elbow, then nods in the direction of her husband's ass.

"I like big butts I can not lie…" she launches into the infamous Sir Mix A Lot song.

Flack shakes his head, chews on his bottom lip to keep from laughing, and pushing the door of the donut shop open with his hip, motions for us to go ahead of him.

"You'll pay for that," he declares.

Bree-Anne and I both burst into a fit of giggles and link arms as we stroll towards the waiting SUV.

It's definitely been a night for the memory books.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and even just lurking! I appreciate all of the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

**Afrozenheart412**

**Brinchen86**

**CSINYMinute**

**Dark Wing Gibbs (I still can't stop laughing from your review, thanks for making my week! I needed that! :))**

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**xSamiliciousx**

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**Forest Angel**

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**Storywriter**

**CSINYtwins1412**


	8. One Good Friend

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

**THANKS TO THOSE WHO ADDED ME TO ALERTS AND FAVES!**

**THIS IS A DANNY/FLACK CENTRIC CHAPTER FOR ALL OF THOSE WHO WANTED A LITTLE MORE FRIENDSHIP STUFF BETWEEN THEM**

* * *

**One Good Friend**

"Well my Daddy used to tell me  
Any man can be a king,  
it ain't that complicated,  
it's a very simple thing.  
You don't need no castle or throne for sitting in,  
All you need is one good friend.

If you find yourself somebody who will meet you at a stump,  
on a rainy sunday morning before the sun is even up.  
Who'll stand right there beside you and fight any fight you're in,  
then you've got one good friend."  
-One Good Friend, George Canyon

* * *

**_Danny's POV_**

I've had a lot of sleepless nights.

Bouts of insomnia brought on by the years I've spent on the job; seeing and hearing horrific, disgusting things that despite convincing yourself that you've shut yourself off emotionally and can hide behind that protective barrier you build around yourself, that haunt you in the dead of night and make your skin crawl. I know that Flack suffers from the same fate. The big bad homicide detective, who has mastered the appearance of calm, cool collectedness but has admitted to me on more than one occasion that the his time on the force has caused him more internal, psychological issues that even an army of therapist can't repair. He puts up a damn good front; but there's been many a time where our eyes have met during an interrogation and I've see the horror that exists in his soul, the sheer disbelief at both what he's hearing, and the thought that human beings can be that evil. And the realization that monsters and boogeymen do exist. Only they're not the demons and ghouls and goblins that our children think are living under their beds or in their closets amongst their clothes and toys; they're out on the street lurking and preying on innocents. Killing for nothing more than the rush and sense of control they get when they take a life. Stalkers and rapists, pedophiles and druggies cracked out on their poison of choice. The most dangerous of all are those that look just like you and me. You never know who the hell you're sitting beside on the subway or who's brushing past you on the sidewalk. The most deadly criminals are the ones who don't fit the part, who blend in so easily and never raise suspicion. Who live relatively mundane lives; nine to five jobs, a mortgage, a wife and a couple of kids. The ones who smile at you in passing and shout hello while you're both on your front porches collection the morning paper. The upstanding, law abiding citizens, members of the PTA, soccer moms and hockey dads, who seem so normal that you're completely stunned when something dark inside them rears its ugly head.

This job changes you. You can convince yourself time and time again that it doesn't bother you anymore. You can tell yourself that the gruesome details you're hearing and the disgusting crime scene photos you're looking at aren't real, that that DB and that pool of blood and that smell of decomp are nothing more than props for a weekly television crime drama. And you can walk out of the crime lab at the end of the day with your head held high; knowing that you've done your best to help bring down the heavy hand of justice and you've managed to give a grieving family some closure. You can reassure yourself that you're shaking hands and your knotted stomach aren't by products of the job itself, but nothing but rattled nerves from insomnia and the stresses of balancing home with your career. I guess the more you tell yourself all of that, the more you buy into it. But what you don't let yourself think about and what you don't reveal to your family is that you're a goddamn mess. That every morning when that alarm clock goes off or each time that phone rings dispatching you out into the field, you're cooking up a million and one excuses for why you want to call in sick that day or what reason you can't give for not answering the phone. But you always end up dragging your ass out of bed and putting one foot in front of the other, and you plaster a smile on your face when you step off that elevator onto the thirty-fifth floor and you spend your day lightening moods by cracking jokes, issuing smart ass comments or sharing lame ass personal anecdotes.

Or you leave the warmth and security of your home and the arms of your wife and haul ass to a crime scene a borough away. And you stand beside your best friend in the middle of the driving rain or you shiver alongside of him in the blistering cold, a stoic twosome shaking their heads in disbelief at not only the crime scene that lies in front of you, but at the realization that this is your life. That the job is no longer about serving and protecting, it's become a matter of survival. You've got bills to pay and little mouths to feed. You're eternally fucked; unfortunately, you're both blessed and cursed because you're disgustingly good at what you do. And in the midst of the madness and the stark realization that you're stuck in this job for the long haul, you know that the guy that's standing next to you, who you love like a brother and whose kids are part of your family, is in this God awful shitty mess until he too is ready to apply for his pension. You're a team; you know that your buddy will have your back no matter what and that you can trust him with your life. And that's the one thing, and sometimes the only thing, that gets you through the day. Knowing that you've got him beside you every step of the way. That he too bears the weight of the world as it sits squarely on his shoulders.

I'd broached the topic of alternate career choices with Flack a couple of weeks ago, as the two of us sat on the top landing on the backyard deck as his place, sipping a couple of beers and watching Lucy and Collin as the latter entertained my three year old daughter with a bottle of bubbles that his mother had given to him. Lucy had been fascinated; her eyes riveted on her little friend as he dipped that plastic wand into the soap mixture and proceeded to raise it to his lips and ever so gently blow on it to create a floating masterpiece that sparkled in the late afternoon sun. I can still hear those kids giggling as they chased those bubbles around the yard, jumping as high as their little legs would allow them, attempting to snatch those glittering orbs out of the air. So precious and innocent, awed by the simple things in life. Completely and blissfully unaware of the inner demons that their old men struggled with on a daily basis and kept expertly hidden from everyone around them. Never would we burden or kids with our problems; once we stepped through our front doors after a shift, we did everything in our power to shut down the cop sides of our personalities and turn on the daddy ones.

We let ourselves be easily charmed and entertained by the excited ways they recount their busy days for us, we praise them on the masterpieces they've created at day care -or in Collin's case, kindergarten- and we gush endlessly about Popsicle stick picture frames and the water colouring paintings or magic marker scribblings that they shove in our faces. We keep a straight face when we're asked to identify something on the paper: sure we know that that's mommy and daddy and the rest of the family- and we give apologetic smiles when we're way off the mark: no we weren't aware that that was suppose to be a cow because it makes such a great dog. And we get down on the floor and play with our precious bundles of joy -all of them- because the time we spend with them and all the sloppy kisses and the hugs we receive and the endless times they say "I love you, daddy" in their tiny voices makes the nightmare of our jobs so much easier to bear.

"What you think you'd be doing if you never become a cop?" I'd asked, as I took a swig of my beer and Flack repeatedly dribbled a colourful Finding Nemo ball on the wood beneath us. To a kid, that ball would have be considered pretty damn big; Flack was able to lay a hand over the top of it and nearly cover it from top to bottom with his fingers. Behind us, our wives had been laughing and joking around in the kitchen, sipping glasses of wine while caring for the babies off our families.

"Honestly?" my best friend had given a little frown and shrugged his broad shoulders. "I have no goddamn clue."

"Come on Flack…" I'd prodded. "There must be something else you can see yourself doing. Another job that you wouldn't mind having. Something nine to five maybe…"

"Nine to five requires an education Messer," he had reminded me. "And I don't have a degree behind me. And unless I can swing a solid forty hours at a security company or Denny's or McDonald's is hiring for afternoons and are willing to pay me more than minimum…"

"Okay…so maybe not nine to five," I had said. "But there's got to be something else you could see yourself doing."

"If I wasn't a cop…" he'd sighed as he'd considered his options. "If I wasn't a cop I'd probably still be working for the city. Maybe in sanitation or public works. Or transportation. I don't know…maybe even construction."

"You ever think about quitting?" I'd asked. "You ever think about leaving the department and doing something…I don't know…normal?"

"What's normal?" he'd laughed. "And why the hell would I leave? I've been there since I was nineteen. I've already got a decent amount of pension money stocked up. And it's full benefits, Dan-o. Medical, dental. I've got a wife and three kids I have to think about, to take care of. You know how damn expensive it is to have a family. No way in hell would I be able to do it without all the extras that come with the NYPD."

"So getting attacked by perps, shot, treated like shit by the general public and in your case blown up in a building is all worth it 'cause we get full benefits?"

"No," he'd shook his head. "What's worth all of that is knowing that I can provide for my wife and my kids. Knowing that they have a roof over their heads, clothes on their back and food on the table. Knowing that each scumbag I put away is one less on the street for them to worry about. One less douche bag lurking around playgrounds, preying on little ones just like ours. Each time I slap those cuffs on someone, I'm making this city a little safer for them. And that's what makes it all worth it. My family is what makes the doubles and the triples, the aches, and the pains seem a little easier to bear. 'Cause when I get on my car and head home…well I know that my wife and my kids…the kids we created together…are going to be here waiting. And they're going to be happy to see me and thankful that I've managed, for another day, to come back to them."

"That's deep Flack," I'd said, in awe that my normally surly, brash best friend would even admit all of that in front of me.

"I guess…" he'd cracked a slow smile. "And then of course ten minutes after I get in and I've gotten all the hugs and kisses coming my way, my wife's on my ass about helping out with dinner or bitching at me about forgetting to put the garbage out or wanting me to change a diaper or take the dogs for a walk."

"Way to ruin a good moment," I'd snorted, then had glared at him as he not only jumped to his feet, but had drilled that Finding Nemo ball off the top of my head. "And speaking of my wife," he'd said, giving a stretch that had made his back and shoulders crack. "I'm going inside and getting a hug and kiss and maybe an I love you to remind me just how damn happy I am to be having to work nights for three weeks straight."

He had disappeared into the house and I'd sat on the deck, watching Collin and Lucy as they sat together side by side on the grass, my honorary nephew's tiny fingers working feverishly as he tied together a handful of dandelions. Fashioning a crown made for a princess that he'd proceeded to place delicately on the top of my daughter's head. And I had been able to keep the smile off of my face as Lucy giggled; her eyes full of awe as her hand explored the treasure adorning her curls before she leaned sideways and planted a kiss square on Collin's mouth. The kid hadn't seen it coming and certainly hadn't known what hit him. A cute girl is a cute girl even if she's only three and you're just pushing five. And his cheeks had gone a brilliant shade of red and he stared at her in disbelief before she'd scampered to her feet, tousled his hair and cried, "You can't catch me!" before bolting across the yard.

Behind me, I had been able to hear Flack teasing his wife mercilessly about the fact that two days ago she'd turned cake she'd been attempting to make for his father's birthday into charcoal and how she could 'burn cereal' if she was given the chance. And she'd reminded him about the time he'd thought it was a good idea, during a state wide hydro black out last winter, to use a Coleman camping stove to try and make the family dinner and had singed the wallpaper on the backsplash behind the kitchen sink. Linds had laughed hysterically and Flack had given her shit for being on his wife's side, and just when things had died down and silence reigned supreme, my best friend had decided to bust out his game. One that had drastically improved over the years. And before I'd known what was happening, he was singing Keith Urban at the top of his lungs.

"_I wanna kiss a girl, I wanna hold her tight, maybe make a little magic in the moonlight…"_

"Oh I think you've been making more than just a little magic in the moonlight," Breezy had laughed.

"And in the early morning light, and in the afternoon light, and another other light that exists in this world," Linds had added.

I hadn't been able to stop myself from chuckling at the antics going on behind me. Or at the sight of my baby girl and Collin chasing each other around the swing set near the back fence, their giggles dancing on the air.

* * *

Flack had been right -even if it was getting terrifying to think of the number of times he was spot on about things these days- the personal lives that we had managed to create for ourselves did make the long hours and the torment of the job easier to bear.

Even if I do currently find myself sitting in the passenger seat of his squad car at three thirty in the morning, my head resting against the window and the glow of the streetlights burning my weary eyes. I'd attempted to catch a bit of shut eye while my best friend had ran into the Starbucks across the street to not only procure us some caffeine and use the john, but to call home in private, only to find that even the tiniest bit of rest is evading me. And my eyes flicker open and I glance to my left as the driver's side door pops open and Flack's right hand offers me a carry tray of take out coffee.

"Took ya long enough," I grumble, as I accept the drinks and he slips in behind the wheel.

"I got held up in the bathroom," he retorts. "I call home to check on things and my wife ropes me into phone sex."

I frown. "Way too much goddamn information," I complain, and he gives a chuckle and that charming bastard smile of his. "Things are good?" I ask, as I set the carry tray on my lap and pluck out the cup that has the letter M scrawled on the top. It can either stand for Messer or milk; either way it's mine.

"Things are good," Flack confirms. "She's having a hard time sleeping. Says she heard about this case on the news earlier and it's giving her the creeps."

I nod in understanding; a cop on administrative leave after shooting a suspect six months ago had snapped three hours earlier and had used his service pistol to murder his entire family. Wife and three kids; including a three month old baby.

"She's worried about me," Flack admits in a quiet voice, and gives an appreciative nod as I hand him his coffee.

"Worried as in worried about you getting hurt by this scum bag or worried as in all the things you've been struggling with since Jess died and you…"

"A little bit of both," he says, and snaps open the tab on the lid and takes a sip of the brew. "Kinda bothers me, you know. That she's almost comparing me to this other guy. I would never hurt her. Or the kids. She knows that."

"She's just concerned is all," I reason. "She loves you and just wants you to be okay, that's all. She knows you've been through a lot and she doesn't want to see you see you fall back into hold habits. She's just worried, Don. That's all."

He nods, then falls silent; eyes riveted on the empty street in front of us. "I worry about myself some time too," he says after a few minutes. "Most days I feel really good, you know? Other days…other days I feel really shaky and I start wondering if something is going to set me off. If something is going to happen and I'm going to go back to the way I was. 'Cause I don't want to go back to the way I was."

"Your wife would never let that happen," I tell him. "I'd never let that happen."

He manages a small smile.

"Look, you ever feel like…I don't know…if you ever feel like you can't handle something, like you need to just step back and clear your head…like you need to safe yourself? You just do it. You just tell you need to take a few and you just go ahead and do it. I've got your back, Don. I've always had it. And if you ever feel like you're in danger of slipping…I'll make sure you don't fall, a'right?"

He nods slowly, then sets the cup of coffee in the holder between our seats and reaching for his seat belt, draws it across his body and snaps it in place. "We should get this show on the road," he says, and starts the ignition.

"Ready when you are," I tell him, and clap him on the shoulder with my left hand.

No more words need to be said. I don't need to push the issue even further and he doesn't need to thank me.

We're here for each other. Flack and I make a great team and I never have to worry about him turning his back on me or selling me out. Our 'bro-mance' as Linds and Breezy call it, has honestly been the most successful, longest and productive relationship of my entire life.

I guess it's almost like a work related marriage. We're committed to protecting each other's asses. We support each other through thick and thin. In sickness and in health.

Till death do us part.

Or at least retirement.

* * *

**Huge thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and just plain lurking! I appreciate all of the support!**

**Special thanks to:**

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	9. Heaven

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS**

**THIS STORY DOESN'T FOLLOW A SPECIFIC TIME LINE AND IS A COLLECTION OF ONE/TWO SHOTS IF YOU WILL THAT ARE EITHER MISSING SCENES FROM MY OTHER STORY, OR ARE COLLIN AND LUCY-CENTRIC. IN OTHER WORDS, A LOT OF JUMPING BACK AND FORTH BETWEEN YEARS BASED ON IDEAS THAT READERS HAVE ASKED ME TO EMBARK ON.**

* * *

**Heaven**

"Now nothin' can take you away from me  
We've been down that road before  
But that's over now  
You keep me comin' back for more  
Baby you're all that I want  
When you're lyin' here in my arms  
I'm findin' it hard to believe  
We're in heaven.

And love is all that I need  
And I found it there in your heart  
It isn't too hard to see  
We're in heaven.

Oh - once in your life you find someone  
Who will turn your world around  
Bring you up when you're feelin' down.

Ya - nothin' could change what you mean to me  
Oh there's lots that I could say  
But just hold me now  
Cause our love will light the way."  
Heaven, Bryan Adams

_**Lucy's POV **_

My eighteenth birthday has been nothing short of perfect. While I had insisted that I was a grown woman now and far beyond needing a party to celebrate the day, my mom had once again proved the old adage 'Mother's Know Best'. Collin had come up with the plan to spend the day at Coney Island, and we'd set out shortly before ten in the morning with Shae-Lynne and her boyfriend -and Collin's best buddy on earth since they were just 'knee high to grasshoppers' as my dad always says- Benjamin Klein. I guess you could call us 'The Four Musketeers'. Although Benny goes to Columbia -he'd gotten a scholarship to study medicine when he'd graduated from high school with the highest marks in all of the state- our little group is tight knit and impenetrable. We do everything together; last summer our folks had even let us go to Darien Lake and camp out for four days _without_ adult supervision and our dads practically have to physically remove us from the ice at Rockefeller Center during the winter months. We hang out at each other's houses, go to the movies together, take trips to Far Rockaway beach, and indulge in outings into the city to the Central Park Zoo or the Museum of Natural History. And Benny, Shae-Lynne and I always form the smallest but undeniably the loudest, cheering section at all of Collin's hockey and football games.

The two boys are as different as night and day. While Collin is tall and big -six foot four and close to two hundred and ten pounds since he was seventeen- Bennie is short and scrawny. He's studious and serious while my boyfriend is rambunctious, fun loving and easily approachable. Collin is all jock -with a brain that he tends to hide from the outside world- he wears clothes from American Eagle, Abercrombie and Fitch and Old Navy and is never without his tattered and stained Mets cap that he wears backwards and covers his ever present brush cut. Although he dresses himself in similar fashion, Benny is the opposite in physical appearance. His dark hair is thick and shaggy and he's constantly brushing his bangs off of his forehead and pushing his glasses further up his nose. He's calm, composed, and relatively boring compared to Shae-Lynne's eccentric way of dressing and her feisty, take no shit personality. Most guys we know are afraid of her; she may look all sultry with that flaming red hair and those huge blue eyes, but she doesn't back down from anyone and has been in her fair share of dustups at school. Yet Benny, in his own quiet, low key way, is somehow able to tame her.

We'd had an amazing time at Coney Island; eating way too much junk food and dragging the guys onto every ride imaginable -even the kiddies ones just for shits and giggles, resulting in several pictures of Collin with a scowl on his face as he sits in the respective seats with his knees up near his chin- and forcing our boyfriends to spend way too much on the midway games. We'd been reluctant to leave at four. I'd pouted and whined to the best of my ability, but Collin had remained firm about a team meeting he had to be at in less than an hour and a half. But as we piled into his car, we'd walked away with not only a lot of wonderful memories, but a disgusting amount of stuffed animals -Collin and Benny's well earned rewards at the games- and mine and Shae-Lynne's faces bearing matching butterflies, done in vibrant pink, purple and yellow and a whole lot of sparkles- from forehead to chin.

It had all been a ruse; a clever ploy to get me out of the house while my parents set up a surprise birthday party. I'd given a shriek and had nearly peed my pants when our little group had wandered back into what I'd assumed was my empty house and guests had popped out from every available hiding place screaming, SURPRISE! I'd tried to act as if I was irritated afterwards, embarrassed that my mom and dad would go ahead and do something so childish when I'd specifically told them not to do anything for my birthday. But as I nibbled on rocky road ice cream and birthday cake that Auntie B had made for me -white icing on chocolate with my name written in pink and a lovingly drawn Sunshine Bear (from the Care Bears)- I'd been unable to resist thanking my parents for what they'd done for me. Everyone that I treasured was there celebrating with me, all of the people that my parents had been working with long before I was even a twinkle in my mom's eyes that I considered aunts and uncles. And with them were their respective partners and their children, all mixing together to create a loud, exciting and memorable party. None of the presents had even mattered; the things that had meant the most to me was having everyone under one roof, happy and enjoying themselves. Although I'm certainly not going to argue with envelopes of money passed my way; intended to help me along during my first year of university and to buy that little used car from a neighbour down the street.

But this moment that I am now embroiled in, is nothing short of incredible. With the guests long gone and my house in both darkness and silence, find myself flat on my back in the middle of the backyard, the grass cold and damp against my back and legs despite a layer of clothing and the flannel blanket that is spread out underneath our prone bodies. Thousands of stars twinkle beautifully in the expanse of sky above; like sparkling jewels spread out on a sea of velvet. And while a gentle breeze tousles both the tree tops and the loose tendrils of hair that tumble down along the sides of my face, crickets chirp in the darkness; a perfect accompaniment to the steady, rhythmic beats of our hearts and the soft intake of our breath. The arm that is wrapped securely and lovingly around me is the only thing that is keeping me from floating away into that night sky, on drifting away on a cloud of what I can only call perfect bliss. And that smell…so masculine and soothing, so perfect in it's familiarity and intoxicating in its heat. I can never get enough of it. I can never get enough of him.

Collin is my be all and end all. My knight in shining armour, my best friend, my confidant. The only thing that he isn't for far is my lover. We're well into our late teens and we've yet to 'seal the deal' as some of the boys in school call it. I'm sure that Collin is just as much of a virgin as I am; I doubt that he'd ever cheat on me and he doesn't strut around school acting as if he's the king shit when it comes to sex. He takes all the ribbings his buddies and teammates dish out about him still having his 'beginners permit' and he doesn't make up stories about our experiences to make himself look like a stud. He respects me; he treats me as if I'm the most incredible, beautiful girl in the entire world and has vowed time and time again to wait for as long as possible. He's leaving the ball in my court, allowing me to call the shots when it comes to where and when. And it's not as if either of us is starving for intimacy. We go as far as third base and I'm sure the thought of us having oral sex and engaging mutual masturbation is enough to cause my father to go grey and every artery in his body to clog up. Uncle Donnie and Aunt B are more laid back when it comes to sex; Collin's been given 'the talk' time and time again and while his mom isn't exactly condoning pre-marital sex, she's not telling us not to do it either. She knows what's it like to be a teenager and madly and desperately in love with someone; her and Uncle Donnie were having sex by the time they were sixteen. And Uncle Donnie has adopted a 'better to be safe then sorry' philosophy when it comes to his son and has made sure that Collin is stocked up and well prepared when it comes to sex.

It's not as if I don't want to have sex; there have been times where I've been so into something we were doing intimately that Collin had been the one to stop me before things managed to get even further. He doesn't want me regretting anything; making a decision based on raging hormones. I love him. To the ends of the earth and beyond. And I know that he loves me and that what we have is far more powerful and intense then anyone gives us credit for. When Collin looks at me, I see a future in his eyes. I see us getting married and having babies, I see us raising a handful of children together in a house full of love; just like the homes that we've been fortunate enough to be brought up in. I can even imagine what it will be like when we're older, when we're grey and weathered and have been together for years and we have grandchildren and great grandchildren under our belt. My friends tell me that I'm insane for thinking to far ahead, for 'putting all of my eggs in one basket', for banking on a guy when we're both so young.

But they don't have how I feel. They don't see what I see in Collin's eyes.

They don't see forever in them like I do.

A smile tugs at my lips as I bring a hand up to rest on my throat, where the sterling silver and pink sapphire star charm my boyfriend bought me rests against my skin. I have a slight obsession with stars; from the glow in the dark stickers that I have plastered on every inch of my bedroom ceiling to the tattoo of shooting stars that I am planning to get when I turn twenty one; several of the objects, ranging from small to large and travelling down my spine from the nap of my neck. And when I'd seen the necklace and accompanying charm at Benny's dad's collectibles store several weeks ago, I'd know right away that I had to have it. I know that it cost a fortune, and I'm pretty sure that Uncle Donnie or Aunt B probably paid for it and Collin has to work it off by doing more chores around the house and giving his parents a bit of the money he makes at his after school job. But none of the matters to me; he'd cared enough to buy it and had done it knowing he'd have to make some sacrifices. A characteristic he's picked up from both his mom and his dad, who both put their own personal happiness on the backburner years ago and had suffered through nearly four years of being apart before finding their way back to each other.

"Did you have a good birthday, Lucy Loo?" Collin asks, breaking the companionable silence that had fallen between us.

"I had the most perfect birthday EVER," I reply, and flipping over onto my side, drape an arm across his broad chest as I snuggle in close, pressing my warm body against his and resting my chin on his shoulder. Shivering slightly when the hand that had been resting on my shoulder, drifts down my back and his fingertips grazes against the slice of flesh my sweater had left exposed when I'd rolled over. "I still can't believe you were in on it though," I say, and stick my tongue out at him.

"Your folks wanted things to be perfect for you," Collin defends himself. "And I wanted things to be perfect for you too."

"The only thing that makes my life perfect is you," I declare, and cover his lips with mine in a slow, soft kiss. "I love you," I whisper, and rub the tip of my nose against the tip of his.

It's the first time I've ever said it first; Collin's always been amazing about tossing the L word out, especially when I least expect it. I'd cried the first time that he'd said it, after I'd broken my leg during gymnastics and he'd rushed out onto the gym floor in a blind panic as I lay writhing and screaming in pain. I'd never seen that look on Collin's face since, one of sheer worry. And when he'd tenderly smoothed my hair away from my face, pecked my forehead, and said those magic words…well I swear all the agony had nearly melted away. Replaced with the most incredible feeling at the realization that this amazing guy was in love with someone like me.

"I'm supposed to say it first," he grins, and presses his lips to the bridge of my nose.

"Stop being so chivalrous all the time!" I laugh, and slap his chest. "Why can't I be the one to say it first for a change? Why can't I be the one to just tell you how I feel without you having to say it first? How come I can't…?"

He pushes himself up onto one elbow, and then lays his free hand on the back of my head and pulls me into him for a kiss all his doing. Deep and intense; it makes me shudder from head to toe and whimper and arch my body into his as the tip of his tongue teases the roof of my mouth and then the back of my teeth. I don't know how he'd ever come up with that particular move, but damn. It always achieves its desire effect.

"I love you too, Lucy," he breaths against my temple, after the need for air causes him to pull out of the kiss. "Don't ever let anyone tell you or let you think otherwise, okay? They don't know how I feel; how scary this is all."

"You're scared?" I ask in surprise, as I pull away and look into those soulful, beautiful eyes.

"Aren't you?" he inquires. "Aren't you scared about how you're feeling?"

"You mean does it spook me that the way I feel about you is overwhelming and intense?" I reach pick grass out of his hair. "Does it freak me out that I can barely breathe when you're next to me? That sometimes when you look at me I completely forget where I am and who I am? That my head spins and my knees shake every time you touch me? That when you kiss me like you just did I feel…I feel completely out of control?"

Collin nods.

"Of course I'm scared," I say. "But that's what makes it so incredible. That's what makes it so real. How I know that this isn't just something simple and childish. I know that we're meant to be Collin; I've known that since I was fourteen and you snuck that kiss on me under the mistletoe at Uncle Sid's place that Christmas."

My boyfriend blushes slightly and gives a sheepish grin.

"Please tell me that you feel all of that too," I plead, as I take his face in my hands. "Please tell me that you're just as scared as I am and that you feel the same way about me. That I'm not reading too much into us and I'm not getting my hopes up, Collin. Please tell me that you want me just as much as I want you and that…"

My words are abruptly cut off and I give a yelp as he captures me around the waist with one arm and lifting me up effortlessly, deposits me onto my back.

"I love you," he says for the second time that night, as I instinctively open my legs as he positions his heavy, strong body between them; supporting his weight on both arms, a hand on either side of my head. "I love you and I only want to be with you. Forever."

He lowers his head to mine, then seizes my mouth in mind numbing, toe curling kiss and has me wrapping my arms around his waist and locking my heels together at the small of his back. If it were another time, another place, if my parents and brother and sister weren't right inside, I would have been attacking that boy. I would have been telling him that right here, right now is the time. Our time. That I want him. All of him. That I want to get lost in him; experience those dizzying heights of passion that women are always going on and on about. Sure, I'm prepared for the hurt that will come with my first time; but this is Collin and nothing can be horrible about our first time together. He may be big and strong and slightly intimidating, but he has a phenomenally gentle and compassionate side that I've been fortunate enough to discover. He's like his father in so many ways; possessing all these different, intricate pieces to a very complex and attractive puzzle.

"I've got one more present for you," he says, his warm breath tickling my skin as he places a series of kisses along my throat.

"Keys to a hotel room?" I ask hopefully, my back arching clear off the grass and a moan escaping my lips when his teeth grazes against the hallow of my throat.

"Sorry," he replies, his breathing ragged as the tip of his tongue travels all the way from the middle of my throat, along the underside of my chin and up to my lips. Another kiss and I'm in danger of losing it all in the middle of my backyard; throwing caution to the wind and claiming that boy as mine in every way imaginable.

"You should be," I pout, when he pecks me chastely and rolls over onto his back. "You can't get my hormones all revved up like that and not follow through!"

"Just give it a couple of weeks Lucy," he says. "When your parents go away to Buffalo; that's when it will happen."

"But how are we going to pull that off? You can't tell me that your mom and dad won't be watching you like a hawk knowing that my folks aren't home."

"My parents already think we're having sex," Collin says. "I think they'd be shocked if they found out we weren't. So don't worry about them; I'll find the perfect time and the perfect place. Okay?"

I sigh and nod. "You certainly do have a way of ruining all my underwear, Collin."

He arches a quizzical eyebrow.

"You have this uncanny ability of making me soak them," I tell him, and then giggle hysterically when he buries his face in his hands, embarrassed. "I wonder if it's a Flack trait," I muse, as I stretch out on my back once again. "If Auntie B has this same problem with Uncle Donnie."

"I don't even want to think about my parents having sex!" Collin cries, and gives a gagging noise and a shudder.

"You have two siblings," I point out. "And you weren't delivered by the stork, you know."

"I know," he gives a heavy sigh and reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, takes out a folded piece of paper and lies down next to me. "This is your last and final present from me," he says, and holds out the item in his hands.

"You said that when you gave me my necklace," I remind him.

"Well I had to wait until night to give you this one," he tells me. "Because we needed to be out here; lying under the stars. I wanted this moment to be awesome."

I arch a quizzical eyebrow and take the piece of paper from him and unfold it. "Latitude and longitude coordinates?" I ask, perplexed.

"Latitude and longitude _in the sky," _he explains, and then reaches over and taking my chin in his hands, turns my face so that I'm staring up at the stars once again. "Now it's really a long way away and we can't see the exact spot in question, but it's out there somewhere. Out there in all of that…" he sweeps an arm out in front him, indicating the sky. "Somewhere out there is your birthday present."

"You're confusing me," I inform him. "You're talking in riddles and you're…"

"There's this website where you can buy a star and name it," Collin explains. "And seeing as I know how much you love stars, I ask my mom to lend me her credit card so that I could go ahead and order you one. So somewhere out there, at those exact coordinates? Is the Lucy star."

"Are you serious?" I ask, tears welling in my eyes.

"As a heart attack," Collin replies, and then reaches up to brush a tear off of my cheek with a gentle fingertip. "Stars are beautiful and they sparkle and they're mysterious in a way. Just like you. You sparkle and brighten my life and make it better every day, Lucy-Loo. You're the most beautiful thing in the world to me and you're a puzzle all at the same time. And there's nothing…not even all these stars in the sky…that are amazing as you are."

I smile through my tears, and then sniffle noisily before leaning down to kiss him. "The Lucy star?" I ask, as I settle myself down next to him again. "For real?"

"I'd never lie to you," Collin says, as he curls an arm around my shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

I give a long, content sigh and bury my face in his neck as my hand rests on his stomach.

If this is heaven, I never want to leave.

* * *

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